


Restless and Lost On a Road That I Know

by HeatherAster



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: (or Aunt P), Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't Mess With Dot, Don't be afraid of this story, F/M, Step out of your Phracking Comfort Zone, The Camorra, physical abuse mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeatherAster/pseuds/HeatherAster
Summary: Two months after Phryne flew off into the blue with her father, an unexpected visitor shows up at City South police station:  Miss Concetta Strano.  Concetta needs help, and the ever-dutiful Jack is happy to oblige.  But there is a sad story behind her plea, and Jack’s desire to assist becomes tangled up with his other desires.  It doesn’t help that a dose of angst is headed his way, postmarked London.All our favorite characters are here to assist in the best ways they know how, and of course there’s a happy - but hopefully not too sappy - ending.FYI - I've downgraded the rating to "M".  Be advised that CH4 is "E", as well as a short section in CH8.
Relationships: Jack Robinson/Concetta Strano, Jack Robinson/Phryne Fisher
Comments: 127
Kudos: 90





	1. "I Have A Tale To Tell"

**Author's Note:**

> For my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways,  
> And deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low;  
> I'm at home and at ease on a track that I know not,  
> And restless and lost on a road that I know.  
> ~ Henry Lawson, “The Wander-Light”  
> (Jane and her mother read this in "Queen of the Flowers" - I recommend the whole poem)  
> +++  
> Freedom is what you do  
> With what’s been done to you.  
> ~ Jean-Paul Sartre  
> +++  
> We’ve got to live,  
> No matter how many skies have fallen  
> ~ D. H. Lawrence  
> +++  
> 

“Is Inspector Jack Robinson here?” asked a woman with a lilting accent. Jack’s ears perked up as her voice carried from the front of the police station back through the open door of his office. He got up and walked out to investigate. 

“He is, who may I say is asking for him?” asked the young constable behind the counter, a recent transfer from City Central. Jack looked past him to the dark-haired, olive-skinned woman leaning anxiously on the counter, her brows knit with concern, and his stomach did a small flip-flop. 

“Miss Strano,” he said, and her head spun toward him.

“Gianni,” she breathed with relief, then collected herself and stood straight. “Inspector Robinson, I need to speak with you. It’s,” she hesitated. “It’s about Papa. My grandfather.”

“Of course, come on through,” Jack said, and opened the low wooden gate to let her behind the counter. “No calls, Constable,” he ordered, as he ushered her into his office and shut the door. She dropped her bag in a chair and turned to him.

“Gianni,” she said again, stepping close, her hands on his chest. If her expression and demeanor had given him cause for concern, then the mention of her grandfather deepened that concern into worry. Instinctively, his arms moved around her and she leaned against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He held her for a moment while she relaxed against him, the delectable aromas of an Italian kitchen wafting around him. 

“Is everything all right, Concetta?” he asked softly, pulling back and studying her eyes. “What’s going on with your grandfather?” He indicated the wooden visitors chairs with an open hand and they sat down. 

“Do you remember the raid at the docks, a few weeks ago?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jack nodded. “I wasn’t a part of it but I know several cases of illegal weapons were confiscated as well as opium and cocaine. Don’t tell me your grandfather was involved in that.”

“He wasn’t there, but he was part of making the arrangements, si,” Concetta’s voice was low and anxious. “The head of the other family, the Bianchis, attacked Papa for failing to properly guard the warehouse and accused him of leaking information to the police to take revenge on the Bianchi family.”

“Attacked him? How?”

“Hit him over the head with a cricket bat,” Concetta sighed. “He hasn’t been the same since. He forgets things, and he is angrier, all the time, and...,” she hesitated again, looked away and bit her lip. 

“And what, Concetta,” Jack asked softly, taking her hand.

“And he takes it out on me.” She looked up at him bravely, but tears began to fill her warm brown eyes. 

“Does he hurt you?” Jack asked, hoping he had misunderstood her words. Concetta pushed up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing bruising on her forearm. Then she unbuttoned the top few buttons and slid the sweater off her shoulder. More bruising showed on her curve of her neck and shoulder.

Jack’s gut flared with anger and he grit his teeth. This lovely woman had been the family football for far too long. “Are you all right?” he asked gently, controlling his temper and focusing on her wellbeing. “Anything broken?”

“I am fine, no broken bones. I try to get away from Papa when he is angry, but I am not always lucky. He won’t see a doctor for his head, and I am worried he will only get worse. He sent Vincenzo to Italy as punishment for going behind his back with Mariana, so there is no one to stand between Papa and me. Not even Stefano will stand up for me.” 

“Stefano?”

“Stefano Bianchi,” Concetta spat. “Papa’s latest choice for a husband for me. He arranged the marriage to make peace with the Bianchis after the raid. Stefano works at the restaurant now and he’s a good cook, but he won’t oppose Papa.” She shook her head. “And he is also a pig.”

“Concetta, I am so sorry,” Jack offered. 

“It is none of your fault, Gianni,” she smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. The warmth of her touch radiated into his bones. 

“What will you do?”

“I have decided I must leave my family. The wedding is next week and no one there will help me. I cannot live like that any more. I came to ask you to help me find a place to stay, even for a little while, until I have a place to go.”

“I can certainly do that,” he said, a corner of his mouth turning up, compelled by his ever-present desire to bring justice to an unjust situation. “Let me make a phone call.”

“Thank you, Gianni,” she smiled and squeezed his hand as he got up to go behind his desk. He picked the phone up, hesitated for a moment, then set it down and looked at her. 

“Concetta, do you remember Miss Fisher?” 

“How could I forget?” Concetta’s mouth twisted and she looked away for a moment before returning a steady gaze. “She helped catch Roberto Salvatore.”

“She’s out of the country for a while,” Jack said, “but there is always room in her home for those in need. Would you be alright staying there?”

“I have no one, Gianni. I trust you.”

Jack nodded, the gravity of her situation weighing on his heart. He wouldn’t have considered Wardlow if Phryne had been in residence in Melbourne, and he had other resources if Concetta had still said no, but Phryne’s home came with the able-bodied protection of the Collinses, Mr. Butler, Bert and Cec. It had been hard on her the last time they’d been together, when a trial kiss had said all he couldn’t say. He didn’t want to embarrass or offend her, but her need was greater than her pride at the moment, so Jack picked up the phone again. 

“Mr. Butler, it’s Inspector Robinson,” he said when the phone was answered. “Is Mrs. Collins there?.... Hello, Mrs. Collins, I have a favor to ask…. Do you remember the case with the two Italian restaurants, from several months ago?... One of the family members, Concetta Strano, is in need of a place to stay temporarily, and I was wondering if there was a spare guest room available…. There is? That’s good news…. Yes, I’ll bring her over shortly… Thank you, goodbye.”

“I knew you could help me, Gianni,” Concetta said.

Phryne’s words floated from his memory into his consciousness: “Jack Robinson, the man who always does the right thing, the noble thing.” In that moment, sitting across from a woman who had once promised him everything, he was still missing the woman who promised him nothing. 

++++

“Mrs. Collins, you remember Concetta Strano,” Jack introduced as Mr. Butler took their hats and coats, then went out to collect Concetta’s bags from Jack’s police car. 

“We only met briefly, but yes. Please, call me Dot,” she said, holding out her hand. 

“Concetta,” she said, shaking hands. “Good to see you again.” 

“Please come sit in the parlor,” Dot said. “You, too, Inspector. I just brewed a pot of tea, and there are some sandwiches and biscuits.”

“Grazie,” Concetta said and Jack followed her and Dot into Phryne’s parlor. 

“We need to keep Concetta’s visit here a secret, Mrs. Collins,” Jack said after they’d settled in with their tea. “Her family is no doubt upset she’s left and may be looking for her, and it would not be good if they found her.”

“Of course,” Dot replied. “We’ll be sure to keep the doors and windows locked as well.”

“If it’s that much trouble, I can find another place,” Concetta said uneasily.

“It’s no trouble at all, Miss,” Dot assured her. “We’re used to this sort of thing.”

Concetta’s eyebrows lifted sharply and she glanced sideways at Jack. 

“Houseguests,” Dot recovered quickly. “We’re used to having regular houseguests.”

“Oh,” Concetta nodded and Dot smiled through a nervous laugh, while Jack hid his knowing smirk behind his tea cup. From wayward children and Latvian anarchists, to Chinese communists and Russian clairvoyants, all manner of needy men, women and children had found refuge in Phryne’s welcoming home and warm heart. He would even have to include himself, if he were honest. He knew Phryne wouldn’t think twice about hosting Concetta, even if she believed Concetta was an “old friend” of Jack’s. 

He pondered the reference as the women chatted comfortably. With Phryne gone for who knew how long, Concetta’s unexpected appearance made him wonder if he should have taken her up on her offer. It would have been a comfortable arrangement, safe for her and companionable for him. He hadn’t lied when he said he cared about her and had thought long and hard about what she’d said. When they’d met that last time, he was on the brink of saying yes with his head, but their kiss had revealed his heart. 

It had been a difficult realization, that his traditional view of a safe and comfortable marriage and home was never going to be enough for him anymore, now that he was caught up in Phryne’s vortex. He simultaneously loved Phryne and cursed her for how she’d both enlightened and ruined him, and damn her for flying off just when he was starting to get used to a new way of understanding life and love and commitment. 

“You’re invited, too, Inspector,” Dot was saying, bringing him out of his reverie. And when he didn’t reply right away she elaborated. “Supper tonight, at six o’clock.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Mrs. Collins, I wouldn’t miss it,” he smiled, and set his teacup down. “Well, I should be off,” he said, standing. “There’s still a stack of paperwork waiting on my desk. Thank you for the tea.”

“Anytime, Inspector,” Dot replied. “Oh, and can you take something back to Hugh for me?” she asked, and when Jack nodded she added, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be safe here,” Jack said to Concetta as she stood and stepped close to him, taking his hand. 

“Si, I know, Gianni.” They shared a lingering smile and Jack’s residual frustration over Phryne’s sudden departure cracked open the door for a glimmer of affection for Concetta to slip back in.

“Here you go, Inspector, oh!” Dot said, entering the room to see Jack and Concetta standing as close as he and Phryne ever did. Jack cleared his throat and let go of Concetta’s hand, while Concetta stepped away and nervously brushed the front of her dress and touched her hair. 

“It’s a couple documents from the Hughes case,” Dot explained, handing Jack a large envelope. “They’d been torn up and thrown away, but I patched them back together as best I could. Should be enough to read the important bits.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Jack said. “I’ll see to it he gets them right away. I’ll see you ladies later this evening for supper.” They said their goodbyes, and Jack hustled out of the house. But before he started the police car, he took out his wallet and pulled out a small photo of Phryne he’d had printed from the one time Hugh had tried to take mug shots of her. She had made faces and otherwise flouted police authority with her poses, and Jack knew then he was a goner. He stroked the edge of her face with his thumb, willing her to be waiting impatiently for him in his office when he returned to the station.

It was not to be, however. A less friendly greeting awaited him. 

+++ 

“Here’s your room,” Dot said, opening the door to the prettiest guest room in the house, overlooking the side yard and flower garden. The walls were painted crystal blue, with a decorative brass bed taking pride of place. Lofty white bed linens with Battenburg lace and matching curtains were like clouds floating across a summer sky. 

“It’s lovely,” Concetta breathed, running her fingers over the edge of a gold-trimmed white vanity while her eyes were drawn to a painting of a mountainous coastline with brightly colored houses tumbling toward a deep blue sea. It reminded her of the Amalfi coast not far from the village where she’d grown up. If a room could give a heart hope, this was the room that would do so. Her throat tightened and a tear escaped and she sniffed as she wiped her cheek.

“Are you all right, Concetta?” Dot asked softly.

“I am fine,” Concetta said, turning and smiling. “The room is beautiful.”

“I cried, too, the first time Miss Fisher brought me here and gave me my own room,” Dot admitted and they shared a smile. “Hugh and I got married right before she left, and she told us we could stay here until we find a place of our own.”

“Where is Miss Fisher?” Concetta asked casually, turning toward one of her suitcases that had been set on a bench at the foot of the bed and starting to unpack. “Gianni - the Inspector - says she’s traveling?”

“She flew her father back to London,” Dot began. 

“Flew?”

“She owns a small plane,” Dot said. “And her father’s ship had already sailed and if she didn’t fly him back and beat the ship to England then her mother was going to divorce him.”

“Does she fly away often?”

“This is the first time,” Dot said. “That I know of.”

“Do you know when she’s coming back?”

“No, but probably not for a while.”

“I will try to be gone before she returns,” Concetta said, hanging up a few dresses in the wardrobe. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Dot said. “I’m sure Miss Fisher would love having you here.”

“I am not certain about that,” Concetta shook her head and moved her now-empty case so she could sit on the bench. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why not?” Dot asked carefully, sitting down next to Concetta.

“Because I am,” she hesitated, not sure how much to say. “A good friend of the Inspector.” 

“I see,” Dot nodded, a hint of understanding forming in her mind. “Well, I can tell you Miss Fisher would probably say that any good friend of the Inspector’s would be a friend of hers.”

Concetta wasn’t sure about that, after seeing Gianni and Miss Fisher together, so she changed the subject. “Well, I hope to be gone in a few days anyway. I have a relative in Perth I will send a telegram to tomorrow. Maybe she will take me in.”

“You don’t have anyone in Melbourne?”

“They are all part of ma famiglia, or Stefano’s famiglia, and they fight all the time.”

“Who’s Stefano?”

“The man Papa wants me to marry, as ricompensa - a payoff - to smooth things over with Stefano’s family, the Bianchis. I decided I wasn’t going to let him do that to me again. So when Papa and Stefano went to the Cavour Club this morning, I left.”

“You’re very brave, to leave like that,” Dot patted Concetta on the arm and Concetta winced. “Are you hurt?” Dot asked in dismay. 

“You can keep a secret, si?” Concetta asked.

“Si,” Dot nodded.

“I will show you, then I will tell you,” Concetta said. She decided to trust Gianni’s friends the way she trusted him, and she needed friends who knew her story. She unbuttoned her sweater and took it off, revealing her arms and shoulders. Bruises of varying ages splotched their way from her forearms to her neck, and she turned so Dot could see her upper back.

“Oh, Concetta,” Dot cried softly. “Who did this to you?”

“Mi Papa,” Concetta sighed, and told Dot about her grandfather’s head injury and how he’d changed so much since then. 

“Does the Inspector know?” Dot asked. “That he hurt you?”

“Si, but I only showed him my arm.”

“I’m going to call Doctor MacMillan,” Dot said firmly. “She will take care of you.”

“I cannot pay a doctor,” Concetta said.

“You won’t need to,” Dot assured her. “When someone comes here for help, we take care of all their needs.” When Concetta didn’t appear convinced, Dot took her hand and spoke assuringly. “Don’t worry. We will take care of you. Myself, Mr. Butler, Doctor MacMillan, Hugh and the Inspector; that’s what we do. That’s what we promised Miss Fisher before she left, that we would use her home to care for those in need, just like she always did.”

“Grazie,” Concetta whispered, and sniffed back her emotions as she put her sweater back on. 

“Now you get settled and rest. And if you need anything, just call for me or Mr. Butler.”

Concetta nodded and Dot left the room. She looked around again at the beautiful space, awed by how safe and free it made her feel. It was the opposite of the dark, heavily-draped room she’d had over the restaurant, where even two south-facing windows weren’t enough to brighten the oppressive mood. She took off her shoes and laid down on the big, comfortable bed and pulled the decorative quilt over her. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself floating on a cloud. Behind her eyelids, she saw Gianni smiling at her, as she always did, but this time his image didn’t fade. Instead, in her mind’s eye, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close as tears of relief spilled down her cheeks. Soon, she had drifted off to sleep.

++++

“Any messages, Constable Markham?” Jack asked when he entered the police station, surprising himself by remembering the young man’s name.

“No, but there are two big, Italian blokes waiting for you in the interview room, sir,” the younger man said. “They came in here yelling about how they were going to settle things with you, and yelling at each other in Italian. I didn’t want them to scare anyone else who came in, so I told them they could wait in there.”

“Good call, Markham,” Jack said. “I’ll deal with them. Is Constable Collins around?”

“Right here, sir,” Hugh came into the lobby and hung up the cell keys. 

“Good, Mrs. Collins sent this for you,” Jack handed him the envelope and he peered inside.

“Perfect. This will be most helpful for the Hughes case,” Hugh said, moving toward a counter piled with case folders.

“Before you get into that,” Jack said, taking off his coat. “Come with me to the interview room.”

“I heard Padrino Antonio was here,” Hugh said, following Jack to his office. “Do you know why?”

“They’re going to tell us that Concetta Strano is missing,” Jack said. 

“Is she?”

“No, I just came back from dropping her off at your place,” Jack said, hanging up his coat and hat.

“At Wardlow?” Hugh said, surprised. “Isn’t that dangerous, if they’re looking for her?”

“She - and Dot - will be safe for now,” Jack assured him. “So let’s go see what they have to say.”

Jack strode confidently into the interview room with Hugh right behind. He remained standing, hoping that the vertical presence of two police officers would discourage the men from becoming physical. Padrino Antonio Strano and a younger, burly man were waiting, frowns on their faces. 

“Jack!” An insincere smile broke out on Antonio’s face and he stretched out his hand in greeting. Jack hesitated before accepting the handshake of the man who was abusing Concetta. But he schooled his face into placid nonchalance and Antonio covered their handshake with his other hand in a gesture of control rather than friendship. “So good to see you.”

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Strano,” Jack said, withdrawing his hand as quickly as possible. “How may I help you?”

“What? No how are you, how’s your family? Where’s the respect, eh?”

“I apologize, Mr. Strano,” Jack said. “How is your family?”

“I have good news and bad news,” Antonio said, spreading his palms open with a shrug. “The good news is that Stefano Bianchi will be my new grandson-in-law. He will marry my Concetta.” He threw his arm over the younger man’s shoulders and slapped him on the back in a fraternal way. “Stefano, say hello to Inspector Robinson. Be sure to stay on his good side, eh?” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bianchi,” Jack said, gritting his teeth while he shook the man’s hand. 

“The bad news is why we come here,” Antonio continued. “You see, my Concetta, she is missing.”

“Missing?” Jack said, hoping he sounded concerned enough. 

“Stefano and I went to the club for lunch, and when we returned she was gone. We look everywhere.”

Jack was pleased to see that Antonio at least appeared worried about Concetta, but he had a hunch it wasn’t her personal safety that concerned the Padrino. “Did she leave a note?”

“No, nothing. Her suitcase was gone, and some clothes, and a photo of her parents - my son and his wife, back in the village - that was always by her bed.” At this point, it was Stefano’s turn to pat Antonio on the shoulder in an effort to console him. Jack was impressed with their acting. “Why would she go away,” Antonio wondered aloud. “I give her everything; a roof over her head, a family, I find her good husband. Why she want to leave?” 

“I was hoping maybe you could tell me,” Jack said. “Was she unhappy?”

“How I know woman’s heart, eh?” Antonio implored. “She work in the restaurant, she keeps the guests happy, she go to the market, she helps cook. How could she not be happy?”

“Do you suspect she was taken against her will then?” 

“Why she take suitcase and photograph if she was kidnapped?”

“Did she have any friends she could have gone to?” Jack asked, testing the waters. “Any aunts or cousins?”

“She was going to have husband, Jack, until you arrested Roberto Salvatore,” Antonio accused. “I have to find her new husband, eh? Not many men want to marry a widow.”

Jack forced himself not to roll his eyes. “Do you know what she was wearing?”

“Her coat, it is dark, like a grape,” Antonio said.

“Dark purple?” Jack clarified, Antonio’s information at least matching what Concetta had been wearing.

“Si, I don’t know the rest.”

“What were you two yelling and arguing about when you first arrived at the station?” Jack asked, throwing the Italians off guard.

“Was nothing, Jack,” Antonio spread his hands out, again. “Stefano doesn’t want to work in the restaurant like Concetta did. He want to stay in the kitchen. That’s what we argue about. Family business.” He looked at Stefano who merely grunted and nodded his agreement. “So will you help us find Concetta?” Antonio asked, his voice veering on pleading. 

“Concetta is a grown woman, Antonio. I can’t file a missing persons report after only a few hours.” Jack leaned back against the wall, testing Antonio’s motives. 

“She has to come back, she has obbligo - how you say?” he turned to Stefano. 

“Duty, to her family,” Stefano said.

“I can tell my men to be on the lookout for her, but that’s all I can do for now.” Jack explained. “I can’t start an active search unless there has been foul play and you said there wasn’t. She may just need some time to herself and will come back on her own.”

Antonio stared daggers at Jack for a few seconds before speaking again, this time in a low and dangerous voice. “I thought you care about her, Jack, eh?” Antonio said, standing and pointing his finger at Jack. “You used to come to Strano’s one, two, three nights a week to eat and talk to Concetta until late in the night. Then you catch Roberto Salvatore and you stop coming. We are just criminals to you?”

“If there is something criminal in the disappearance of Concetta, I’ll find it,” Jack said, thinking about Concetta’s bruises. “In the meantime, let’s all keep an eye out for her. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, if you’ll do the same.”

Stefano grumbled to Antonio in Italian, and Jack heard Concetta’s name and “ristorante”. Antonio replied in Italian and Stefano huffed and rolled his eyes. 

“If you find where she is and you no tell me,” Antonio began, narrowing his eyes at Jack.

“You’re not threatening a police officer again, are you Antonio?” Jack asked, staring hard at the Padrino while Collins audibly shifted his weight and squared his shoulders. It was enough for Antonio to rock back on his heels. 

“Find my Concetta, Inspector,” Antonio said, only a trace of true concern behind the threat in his voice. He collected his hat and left, with Stefano close behind. It was what Antonio had left unsaid that Jack needed to worry about. 

+++


	2. "Hard to Hide It Well"

“And how long has he been beating you?” Mac asked as she gently palpated Concetta’s bruises.

“Just - a couple of weeks,” Concetta said, between winces. “Since - he was hit - on the head.”

“You’re sure?” Mac asked, keeping her voice level. 

“Of course, I’m sure.”

“Were you hurt before that? Did you take a fall maybe?”

“No, why?” Concetta gripped the sheet covering her breasts a little closer as the doctor’s experienced eye saw more than she wanted to reveal. 

“Concetta,” Mac said, coming to stand in front of her. “I can tell that some of your bruises are older than a few weeks. And I can see there have been other injuries. Please tell me the truth, so I can help you.”

“All right,” Concetta hung her head. “My grandfather pushed me down the back stairs a few days after Roberto Salvatore was arrested. He blamed me for it. He said I told Inspector Robinson too much. And since he was arranging for me to marry Roberto, he was upset that he would have to find me a new husband.”

“A new one?”

“Roberto killed my first husband. That marriage was also arranged by my grandfather. We were married for 4 years and never had a child, and my grandfather wants an heir. So now he wants me to marry Stefano Bianchi.”

“So you and your first husband were trying to have a baby?” Mac asked. 

“Si. I was pregnant once. But I lost him when he was very tiny.” Concetta held up her palm and stared into it. “He fit in my hand.” Her eyes closed and a pair of tears streaked down her cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mac soothed. “Did you keep trying?”

“No. Fabrizi wouldn’t touch me after that. Said my body was cursed. That was fine with me; he was a pig.”

“I can assure you your body is not cursed because of a miscarriage,” Mac told her. “And if you’re willing, I can examine you to make sure everything is in proper order.”

Concetta nodded and Mac carefully performed an exam, explaining everything as she went. When she was finished and had washed up, she took a small, black drawstring bag out of her case. 

“Concetta, will you be trying to have a baby with your new husband?” 

“No. I’m never going back there,” she asserted.

“Do you have a male companion, someone you’re intimate with?”

“No,” Concetta shook her head, but her cheeks warmed as her thoughts went straight to Gianni. 

“Well, you might in the future, so I want to give you this.” Mac opened the little bag and took out a small piece of curved rubber, like a bowl. Concetta gulped. 

“You know what this is?”

Concetta nodded, having heard terrible imprecations and all manner of horror stories from the women she knew. She didn’t believe most of it, but the idea of the device made her anxious, and went against her deeply held religious beliefs. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of it,” Mac said. “This can protect you, give you freedom to choose, whether you’re married or not. Wherever you’re going in the world, there will be men who will try to take advantage of you - not all, but some. This is just one way to protect yourself.” Mac placed the device in Concetta’s hand and smiled.

The doctor’s words eased her fears, and gave her hope. “How do I…?” she began, unsure how to ask. 

“I’ll explain, and then you can try it,” Mac said, washing the device in hot soapy water and rinsing and drying it well. “Always wash it first,” she said, handing it back to Concetta. “And then you’ll need some of this,” Mac took a silver tube of lubricant from her bag, and proceeded to walk Concetta through the process. Concetta proved to be a quick study. 

“There you go,” Mac said, handing Concetta a salve for her bruises and closing up her case. “You’re all set. And here’s my number if you ever need anything else,” Mac handed her a card from her jacket pocket. “The bruises to your body will heal,” she said, placing her hand on Concetta’s shoulder. “I hope you find a way to heal the bruises on your heart.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Concetta nodded. “For everything.”

++++

Jack plowed through the rest of his paperwork as quickly as he could and arrived back at Wardlow about ten minutes before six. Mr. Butler took his hat and coat, and Hugh, Dot and Doctor MacMillian were already in the parlor with drinks. 

“Whiskey, sir?” Hugh said, picking up the crystal decanter from a nearby table. 

“Yes, thank you,” Jack said, noting how comfortable Hugh looked pouring whiskey in Phryne’s parlor in his street clothes, as if he’d been doing it for years. The friends, the whiskey, the parlor, were all the same, but of course one thing - one person - was missing. He half expected to see Phryne swoop in at any moment, wearing the latest glittering, flowing, couture creation available. He took another sip and willed away the images to focus on the people in front of him. 

“Did you see we made an arrest in the Hughes case this afternoon, sir,” Hugh asked.

“I did,” Jack nodded. “Excellent work.”

“Couldn’t have done it without Dottie repairing those documents,” Hugh beamed, proudly wrapping his arm around his wife. 

“I think you should hire her as a secretary at the station, Inspector,” Mac said. “She can type up notes, keep case files organized, restore ripped up documents, as well as offer her sterling insights.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Doctor,” Jack said, playing along. “And it would come with the added benefit of the best cup of tea in the entire Victoria Police Force.” He gave Dot a smile and a lift of his glass. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know about all that…,” Dot began, then all eyes turned to the door as Concetta appeared. She brushed at her dress and touched her hair, but relaxed when her eyes met Jack’s. 

“Concetta,” Dot greeted her warmly and went to her. “Come join us. I’ll pour you some wine.”

“Grazie,” Concetta said, letting Dot lead her in by the elbow. The others greeted her as well, but Jack’s soft, low voice was a warm salve. 

Jack watched her closely as she interacted with the others. Her smile was genuine and her laughter easy. She was wearing a long sleeved black dress swirled with red and gold flowers, and diagonal flounces across the skirt. Her hem hit just below the knees, showing off her calves, and red teardrop earrings dangled at her neck. She looked beautiful, and Jack was reminded of the night she had offered herself to him and how it had sent his emotional gyroscope spinning. He hid a smile behind his whiskey glass. 

Soon they were all seated at the table, Hugh at the head with Dot and Concetta on either side, Mac next to Dot and Jack next to Concetta. Hugh offered a blessing and Mr. Butler brought out the food. 

“How are you doing this evening, Concetta,” Jack said quietly to her as the dishes were passed around and the others were chatting about how delicious everything looked. 

“I am fine, Gianni,” she replied, matching his tone. “Your friends have taken very good care of me so far.”

“Mr. Butler, please join us,” Hugh said. “We’re all family here.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Mr. Butler said with a grin. He collected a place setting for himself out of the china cabinet and took the last open seat at the other end of the table. Everyone complimented him on the meal, and the conversation turned around food for a few minutes. 

“Tomorrow night, I will cook for everyone,” Concetta announced. “A traditional feast from the Old Country. Doctor MacMillian, Gianni, you both must come as well.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you, Concetta,” Mac said, lifting her wine glass.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Jack added.

“Concetta, would you let me help you?” Dot asked. “I’d love to learn some new dishes.”

“Same for me, Miss Strano. I’m sure my recipe book can’t hold a candle to your knowledge and expertise.”

“I would love to teach you both,” Concetta smiled. 

“My only request is that you let Dot or Mr. Butler go to the market for you,” Jack said, giving her a steady gaze. “For your safety.”

“Of course, Gianni,” she said, patting his leg under the table as she’d done so many times at the restaurant. A familiar spark skittered up his leg and straight to his groin and he cleared his throat and gulped some wine. 

“I’ll be happy to go to the market for you,” Mr. Butler said. “Just give me a list.”

The conversation meandered through various topics for the remainder of the meal, but seemed to change whenever it came too close to Phryne’s absence or the reason for Concetta’s presence. Everyone seemed to understand that these were off limits, and Jack was grateful. He was conflicted enough as it was without having to endure conversation about it. 

Concetta touched his leg a few more times during dinner, absentmindedly he was sure. Touching others affectionately was part of her Italian heritage, of course, and they had touched each other often over the months that he’d eaten at Strano’s. The brush of an arm, a pat on the knee, fingers entwined while sipping their after-dinner wine. It had started slowly, but grown into another mode of communication for them, comfortable and easy and natural - at least at their reserved table at Strano’s surrounded by strangers. But as much as he wanted to, Jack found it difficult to reciprocate in Phryne’s dining room, among the people he knew - people who knew how close he and Phryne had been. He settled instead for smiles and nods, hoping she’d understand. 

+++

“Hugh,” Dot whispered as they stood at the sink washing and drying the dishes. “Has the Inspector heard from Miss Fisher at all recently?”

“Not that I know of,” Hugh replied. “Not since that first telegram saying she’d arrived safely. Why?”

“Well, they never told anyone they were sweethearts, but they kind of were, weren’t they?”

“I suppose, in a different sort of way,” Hugh agreed. 

“Do you think they still are? Now that Miss Fisher is away?”

“People don’t stop being sweethearts just because they’re apart,” Hugh said. “We didn’t.”

“I know,” Dot mused and furrowed her brow. 

“Dottie, what are you worried about?” Hugh asked, setting down the dish he was drying and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s hard to understand,” she said. “If Miss Fisher and the Inspector are sweethearts, why would she have so many other men as overnight visitors and not the Inspector? And why would she leave when it seemed they were getting closer? She could have telegramed her mother and put her father on a later ship.”

“Why are you thinking about this tonight?”

“Because,” she hesitated, not wanting to make her husband’s boss look bad, but needing to talk to someone about her swirling thoughts. “Didn’t you see the way the Inspector and Miss Strano were acting toward each other?”

“No, I suppose I didn’t,” Hugh admitted. 

“Well, they were smiling at each other a lot, and I don’t know for sure, but I think she was touching his leg under the table,” Dot explained, but refrained from adding ‘it was very suspicious.’ “And now they’re out in the parlor alone, like the Inspector used to be with Miss Fisher. You need to pay more attention to these things, Hugh, if you’re going to be a detective like Inspector Robinson.”

“Dottie,” Hugh sighed, taking her hands out of the dish water and drying them before holding them lovingly in his own. “Whatever the Inspector and Miss Fisher are to each other, they’re not engaged or married. Miss Fisher is a modern woman, and the Inspector is divorced. Maybe they’re afraid it wouldn’t go well if they got married.”

“But they’re so perfect for each other,” Dot insisted. “I just don’t want to see them break each other's hearts.”

“That’s not up to us, though, is it,” Hugh said. “They have to figure these things out for themselves, just like we did.”

“You’re right, Hugh,” Dot sighed and leaned into him for a hug. “I just want them both to be happy.”

+++

“Your grandfather and Stefano paid me a visit at the station this afternoon,” Jack said, as he and Concetta settled onto the couch in the parlor with glasses of wine.

“I was afraid of that,” she said. “Was he angry?”

“Yes, but he stayed calm for the most part.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“He tried, but I reminded him it wasn’t a good idea.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, he said it appeared you left on your own, so I told him I couldn’t start an active search unless there was evidence of foul play. He mentioned you had a duty to your family, and Stefano was not pleased to have to work in the dining room tonight.”

“I will miss seeing our customers,” she said. “But tonight, I get to see my favorite customer, si?” She smiled and laid a hand on his cheek. 

“Si,” Jack replied, returning her smile. If he focused on her face, he could almost forget where he was and avoid the conflicting emotions in his heart. 

“Do you think they will come here to look for me?” she asked, allowing her hand to drift down from his cheek to his hand. Jack subconsciously laced his fingers with hers and gazed into her worried eyes. 

“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “They didn’t seem to realize that you would come to me for help.”

“How soon they forget,” Concetta said. 

“So you’re comfortable here?” Jack asked, taking a sip of his wine. 

“Si,” Concetta smiled. “My room is so beautiful and everyone is so kind.”

“I take it Dr. MacMillan was here to look at your injuries?”

“Si. She was very thorough. She even helped me with some other things because I am a woman,” Concetta said, then looked away as her cheeks grew pink. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that,” Jack assured her, fighting a twinge of his own embarrassment. “That’s a good thing. And Dr. MacMillian is the best.”

“I used to feel guilty about wanting to make my own decisions about my life,” she said. “But, today, I no longer feel guilty. I feel free.”

“And you should be free to make those decisions,” Jack said, knowing for certain that some of Phryne’s views had rubbed off on him. But just how much was being tested simply by sitting this close to Concetta. She smelled of fresh soap and lilacs, and warmth radiated from her when she smiled. Or was that the wine and his own body responding to her?

“I wish I could have seen their faces, when they knew I was gone,” she said with a curl of her mouth and a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. 

Jack chuckled through his nose. “Your grandfather would have had steam coming out of his ears.”

“Like a tea kettle,” Concetta said, then laughed and Jack laughed with her. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the release of stress over a very stressful situation, but their laughter grew and continued until they just couldn’t stop. Concetta placed her hand on his chest as she gulped for air. Jack’s hand slipped from the back of the couch to her waist.

“Gianni, make it stop,” she pleaded, overcome with giggles. 

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I keep thinking of Papa Antonio, with the steam, and,” he couldn’t say any more as they both reached the point of laughing so hard no sounds were coming out. Eventually their amusement subsided and they found themselves with their foreheads pressed against each other, noses just touching, breath mingling. 

Concetta lifted her head and looked up at him, her soulful eyes sparkling with mirth, and Jack’s mouth fell softly against hers. Still light-headed from the laughter, her lips added a dizzying effect and he wrapped both arms around her and held on. It was a tender kiss; intimate, caring and comfortable, and Jack’s mind and body relaxed into its warmth. 

They broke apart for air, sharing small kisses between breaths. She lifted her knees over his and he pulled her onto his lap, causing her dress to ride up her thighs. 

“Gianni,” she breathed as she caressed his face. Oh, how he loved her nickname for him and how it danced like a butterfly in his ears. He tilted his head into her palm, closed his eyes and sighed. She brushed her lips against his and whispered “Gianni” into his mouth, as if she knew the effect it had on him, and he hummed contentedly and kissed her again. His hand slid up her leg, his fingers teasing at the hemline of her dress where it barely covered the top of her stocking, and a muffled moan lifted from her throat. 

Concetta trailed her fingers along the edge of his collar, then nimbly loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, where she brushed lightly at the hollow of this throat. A vibration began deep in Jack’s gut, radiating outward and settling in his groin. When his arousal grew enough to finally press against her thigh he knew he’d gone too far.

“Concetta, I -” he rasped, pulling away, but she stopped him by cupping his cheek and brushing her thumb over his lips. 

“Shhh, Gianni,” she panted, her cheeks flushed, and they were still for a few moments, catching their breath. 

“I’m sorry if I took a liberty,” he finally said, gently sliding her off his lap and back onto the couch. 

“You didn’t,” she shook her head. “I am free now, remember? Free to choose who kisses me.”

“That you are,” he smiled, holding her hand, yet he feared he was not as free as she was. 

“It’s late,” he said as Phryne’s mantle clock chimed ten.

“I will see you tomorrow for dinner, si?” she asked, standing up with him and smoothing down her dress.

“Si. I’ve missed your cooking,” he replied and they walked to the door. 

“Thank you again, Gianni,” she said, helping him with his coat. “This is the start of a new life for me.” She stepped close and fixed his collar and tie.

“You deserve it,” he said and looked in her eyes for a moment before turning to open the door. He turned back to her and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte.”

“Buona notte,” she replied. She watched him leave until he was out the gate and turning toward his police car, then she shut the door and sighed with contentment. 

She collected the empty wine glasses from the parlor and took them to the kitchen and washed them, humming a little tune her mother used to sing. Concetta didn’t remember the words, but the lilting tune carried fond memories. She missed her mother, wishing she’d been there to stand up for her all these years Papa Antonio and Fabrizi had treated her poorly. Now Concetta knew she was strong enough to be on her own, with a little help from Gianni and his friends. 

“Is the Inspector gone, Miss Strano?” asked Mr. Butler, popping in from his room in the back. 

“Si, Mr. Butler,” she replied, placing the washed wine glasses on the drain board.

“I’ll just close up the parlor and bolt the front door, then” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Concetta nodded, dried her hands and went upstairs to her guest room. She changed into her nightgown, and sat at the vanity to undo her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed, remembering Gianni’s kiss, so different than the one they’d shared three months ago, after Roberto was arrested. Maybe then he was afraid of her family, as she had been. Even though she’d promised to leave them for him, it wasn’t easy, and they weren’t going to let her go without a fight. Maybe Gianni knew that and didn’t want to get caught up in that trouble all over again. Tonight though, he was not afraid, and Concetta would have followed wherever he’d led her. She always felt safe with Gianni. 

She turned off the light and curled under the soft, warm covers and fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

+++

It took the entire ride home from St. Kilda to his bungalow in Richmond for Jack’s body to fight off the adrenaline rush and his heart rate to return to normal. It would take a lot longer for his thoughts to settle, however. 

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever fall asleep as his mind tumbled over and over. There was no doubt he was attracted to Concetta; had been for a long time, in fact. Their lingering dinners at Strano’s had often soothed his soul on days when he’d seen the worst of humanity. If Concetta had not been part of an Italian crime family, he could have easily made her his wife. In reality, that had been the only thing holding him back; well, that and a charming freight train named Phryne Fisher. 

He had met both women at roughly the same time. Concetta’s husband, Fabrizi, was killed about a week before Phryne had traipsed into his life, invading his crime scene and deducing the hell out of it. He couldn’t deny the effect that her fearlessness and intelligence had on him, despite the helpless ingenue act she’d put on that day. As they’d gotten to know each other, there had been days when the power of Phryne’s independent spirit had driven him to Strano’s, merely to recalibrate his internal gyroscope with the traditional gender roles he was familiar with and that Concetta represented. He would never have to worry about Concetta scaling the outside of a building, or driving too fast, or going undercover in a brothel. 

Yet, despite Phryne’s escapades, and maybe even because of them, he couldn’t shake her - not from his crime scenes, not from his mind, and certainly not now from his heart. He loved her, in spite of his best efforts to avoid it. That had become painfully clear when he’d thought she’d been killed in a motor car accident, and several dinners a week at Strano’s in the wake of that case couldn’t erase the fact that Phryne had won his heart, whether she knew it or not. Concetta had been right: his heart was taken. 

And now Phryne had flown off to the other side of the world, carrying his heart in her pocket, and Lord knew when she would return. She had challenged him to follow her, but there was no telling where she would land and for how long. He couldn’t afford to chase her around the world, not on a policeman’s salary. He thought maybe she’d write, or send a telegram saying where she was going to be for a while, then he would empty his savings to buy passage to wherever she was. 

That was his plan, anway. The unexpected reappearance of Concetta threatened to throw a spanner into those plans, and if his behavior this evening had been any indication, maybe it already had. He rolled over and groaned into his pillow. Despite his love for his wild sparrow that had flown off into the blue, his need for comfort and companionship hadn’t waned. 

He crawled out of bed and took a small dose of the sleep aid tonic Dr. MacMillan had prescribed for him after a particularly harrowing mass shooting he’d been assigned to, one that had reminded him too much of the war. He rarely used it, but tonight he would make an exception. Before he turned out the light, he looked at the photo of Phryne in his wallet again. No, he would never ask her to change who she was, but maybe it wouldn’t be asking too much for her to give him some sort of sign. 

He fell heavily back into bed and grumbled to himself a little longer before falling into a fitful sleep. 

++++


	3. "I Was Not Ready For The Fall"

“Where’s Constable Markham?” Jack asked as he entered the station, checking his messages and the list of overnight guests.

“Called in sick, sir,” Hugh replied. “Said he tripped on some uneven sidewalk on his way home and hit his head.”

“You don’t sound like you believe him,” Jack looked at Hugh with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not the first time he’s called in sick with an odd reason, sir. And one of the other detectives thought he saw him at an illegal two-up game they raided several weeks back.”

“You think maybe he’s in over his head and his bookie caught up with him?”

“Could be,” Hugh said. 

“What’s the first rule of police work, Collins?” Jack asked.

“Collect all the evidence,” Hugh nodded, chastened.

“There could be other explanations, and he could even be telling the truth. Right now, we don’t know. But keep an eye out and let me know if anything more comes of it,” Jack said.

“Yes, sir,” Hugh replied. 

Jack retreated to his office, hoping his own hunch about Markham wasn’t right, and that Papa Antonio hadn’t sent one of his underlings to rough up the young man for information. Markham had been the only other one to see Concetta in the station yesterday, and even though Jack had warned the constable to not say a word about her visit to anyone, he wouldn’t have blamed the young man for giving up the information under threat of severe physical violence. 

No sooner had he sat down to look through his messages than the door to the police station burst open and loud, angry, Italian voices filled the outer office. Jack jumped up and hustled out to help Hugh calm things down. 

“Where she is, Jack?” Antonio yelled while Hugh held him back. “Where Concetta is? You know where she is! Tell me where!”

“Quiet, Antonio!” Jack raised his voice and the Padrino stopped yelling but glared daggers. Jack continued calmly but firmly. “If you want to discuss this like reasonable men, I’m all ears. But I’ll not have you storm into my station like Mephisto and demand information from me. Understood?”

Antonio shrugged out of Hugh’s restraining arms and brushed off his jacket. “I understand,” he conceded. 

“Good, now step into my office where we can discuss this properly,” Jack said, holding open the wooden gate. “Ah-ah, not you,” he held up his hand to stop Stefano, who grumbled and took a seat on the bench near the door.

“Jack, Jack,” Antonio said expansively, his palms up in a show of openness Jack didn’t believe for a moment. “We are friends, eh? Tell me where Concetta is.”

“Have a seat, Antonio,” Jack nodded sternly at the visitors' chairs and waited for Antonio to sit down before he settled in his own chair behind the desk.

“Jack, I know she come here, just tell me where she is so I can take her home.”

“What makes you think she was here?” Jack leaned back in his chair but maintained a steady, narrowed gaze at the Padrino.

“Because you were her friend, eh? Where else would she go?”

“If I were Concetta, this would be the last place I’d come, knowing you’d come looking for me.”

“Why you defend a wayward girl, Jack? Who else gonna take her in besides her family?”

“Concetta isn’t a girl, Antonio, much less a wayward one. If you have any information about where to look for her, then tell me. Otherwise, I have work to do.”

“You KNOW where she is!” Antonio exploded out of his chair in anger, sweeping the wooden inbox off the corner of the desk, spilling its contents, and stabbing a finger at Jack. “Tell me!”

Jack rose slowly out of his chair and leaned close to Antonio over his desk. He stared hard into the Padrino’s eyes, seeing only anger, and not a mite of concern over his “missing” granddaughter. Jack’s gut roiled with injustice but he kept his cool. 

“Get out of my police station NOW, Antonio,” he seethed in a dark and dangerous voice. “And I don’t ever want to see you in here again unless I’m putting you in a cell.”

Hugh cracked open the office door and asked mildly, “Everything all right, sir?”

“Escort Mr. Strano and his associate out of the police station right now, Constable,” Jack said, still glaring at the Padrino.

“Yes, sir. Right this way, Mr. Strano,” Hugh said, as if showing him to a table in a restaurant. Antonio shrugged off Hugh’s guiding hand on his arm and turned to go, but turned back at the office door. 

“Our business is not finished, Jack,” he said. “Be careful going home tonight, eh?”

It wasn’t worded as a threat, but Jack knew one when he heard it. It was time to call for backup. Over the course of the day, and via various phone calls with his superiors and visits from a few other detectives and undercover officers, a plan was prepared. Detective Inspector Michael Flynn from City Central, who vaguely resembled Jack and had gone through the Academy with him, would be used as a decoy in case Jack were followed leaving the station. Jack himself would slip out the back with Hugh and be driven to a location several blocks from Wardlow. From there, they would take a route on foot through the rear laneways and enter Wardlow through the kitchen door. If all went to plan, the Padrino’s thugs would be caught and Jack and Hugh would arrive safely - for one night anyway. 

They couldn’t use this plan on a daily basis, however. Eventually Antonio would have to give up the fight for Concetta, and there was only one way he would do that: Concetta would have to face him herself and convince him to let her go. Jack would try to discuss it with her tonight after dinner, but he wasn’t sure how soon she’d be ready for that confrontation. 

Around four o’clock, the mailman came into the station, and Hugh walked into Jack’s office with a stack of mail.

“Mostly love letters for our overnight guests,” Hugh remarked, leafing through them. “Except for this one addressed to you, sir,” Hugh said, handing it to Jack. “From London.” The men shared a look, both knowing who it was from, and both understanding the importance of it. 

“I’ll just be out here, taking messages, sir,” Hugh said, backing out of the office.

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack said and waited until Hugh had shut the door behind him before turning his attention to the letter. Phryne’s lovely script looped and whorled across the envelope and his stomach fluttered with anticipation. He carefully slit the envelope open, and unfolded the pages. Amazingly, her perfume had survived the journey and wafted gently into his nose. He held the pages close and inhaled deeply, the cheeky whirlwind of her personality dancing behind his eyelids. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk and settled in to read.

“Dearest Jack,” her voice sing-songed in his mind as he read. “I hope you and everyone are well and enjoying another lovely Melbourne Spring. It’s Autumn here, of course, and while I do so love the change of colors in the trees, I will miss jacaranda season this year. I miss you, too, Jack. I miss solving murders with you and sharing our nightcaps. I’ve done some private detective work here, but it’s not the same, and Scotland Yard isn’t as amenable to my talents as City South. 

“Father and I had a fantastic journey, and he turned out to be a rather good mechanic once he resigned himself to his travel fates. We dined with maharajas in India, emirs in Iran, and the Presidents of Turkey and Greece. We made an emergency landing in St. Peter’s Square in Rome after my propeller hit a bird, and the Pope was so charmed by my father’s journey for love that he invited us to tea. 

“The social season is winding down and I’ve attended every event I could. It’s been wonderful to see everyone again, and I’ve run into quite a few old friends and made a few new ones as well. Last week, my good friend Charlie - that’s Charles Daniel Finch-Knightley, the 10th Earl of Aylesford - had the most glamorous party at Packington Hall, which interestingly enough was built in the 1600s for Sir Clement Fisher, possibly a distant relative but Father and I aren’t sure. Anyway, Charlie held a ladies-only drawing for a night in the Royal Master Suite, and I won! The suite is enormous, and has been fitted with all the modern furnishings. The next morning Charlie and I went riding after breakfast and he showed me all the secret corners of the gardens and grounds, as well as the massive stables and his garage full of fancy motorcars. We had such a good time that I stayed a second night. He’s looking to remarry after his wife died last year from the influenza and he wanted me to see what he’d done with the place. You would love his library and extensive collection of rare whiskeys. 

“I’ve decided to stay in London through Christmas and New Years. Mother is having a houseful and asked for my help playing hostess. So this is where I’ll be for the next few months at least, in case you were wondering, or making any travel plans for the holidays. 

“Give my regards to everyone, and write back if you can.  
“All my love,  
“Phryne”

Jack closed his eyes and let the letter fall to rest on his chest. His heart had soared through the first part of the letter, then crashed when she went on about her overnight with an “old friend”. Why she would torture him with that kind of information, he couldn’t fathom, but it seemed clear she was going to continue the parade of men, regardless of how it might affect him. He tried not to care, tried to understand it was just part of who she was, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. 

The information about staying with her parents through the holidays was clearly a reminder that she wanted him to chase after her. If he hadn’t just read that she was being courted by an earl, he would book his passage first thing in the morning. He was not going to join the parade, however, especially at the cost of a round-trip steamer ticket, not to mention the cost to his pride. 

He looked at the letter again, tried reading it while skipping over the section about the Earl of Aylesford, but the thrill was gone. He’d received a letter from Phryne - an event he’d been anticipating for weeks, and on a day when he sorely needed the emotional boost in the face of a real, bodily threat - yet it had only served to widen the chasm. 

He checked his watch and realized it was almost time to put their escape plan into action. Phryne’s letter ended up in the back of a desk drawer with an exasperated toss. He had to lock those emotions away for another time. When he opened his office door, Inspector Flynn was there, having gone by Jack’s house earlier to find Jack’s old coat and hat, along with two undercover constables. They discussed it one more time then headed out. At least tonight Jack would enjoy a delicious meal in the company of friends, and spend time with a woman who cared about him. The memory of Concetta from the night before sprung freshly to mind, warming his nerve endings and giving him hope. At least for tonight, there was someone who was waiting for him. 

+++

The kitchen door opened, and Dot and Concetta turned to see Hugh and Jack enter.

“You made it,” Dot said, stepping into Hugh’s embrace for a kiss. 

“Gianni,” Concetta smiled and went to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Her warm welcome drew him in and the tension of the day fell away.

“Va bene,” he said, taking her hand, their old familiar greeting falling softly and easily, from his lips.

“Bene,” she replied, kissing him on each cheek. He sighed heavily and squeezed her hand. “Let me help you with your coat,” she said, and he turned so she could ease it off his shoulders, their motions natural and in sync. 

“Boy, it sure smells good in here,” Hugh declared, inhaling deeply.

“Concetta is a wonderful cook and I’ve learned so much from her today,” Dot said.

“You are a good student,” Concetta replied, hanging Jack’s hat and coat on hooks near the door and turning back to the stove to stir a sauce. “As are you, Mr. Butler,” she added when he walked into the kitchen from the dining room. “A good student in the kitchen,” she clarified when his eyebrows lifted at the mention of his name.

“It has been my pleasure to learn from you Miss,” he bowed slightly. “The table is set and I’m happy to take it from here if you would all like to move to the parlor for drinks.”

“I’ll meet you all there,” Hugh said, turning toward the back stairs. “Just want to change out of my uniform.”

Dot and Concetta removed their aprons, then Dot led the way to the parlor and Jack guided Concetta ahead of him with a hand to the small of her back. A bottle of red wine was open on the side table, next to the crystal decanter of whiskey. 

“Vino?” Concetta asked, holding up the bottle. 

“Si,” Jack replied. Drinking whiskey in this room would be too much of a reminder, especially today. 

“Yes, please,” said Dot, and Concetta poured for them both before pouring one for herself. She watched Jack closely, looking for signs to how he was feeling. He’d called around midday to tell her about her grandfather’s second visit to the station, his veiled threat, and what Jack was planning in order to arrive safely for dinner, and she’d been worried about him all afternoon. His eyes were tired and a little distant, but he seemed genuinely happy to see her when he’d walked in. She wondered if they would be able to talk privately after dinner, like they’d done last night, and she’d worried that the threat to Gianni from Papa would be a dark cloud. The rhythms of cooking her traditional family dishes had been a welcome distraction, however, and she was hopeful. 

Hugh came downstairs in trousers and a dinner jacket, and Dr. MacMillian arrived in a dapper plaid suit, and the atmosphere hummed with cheerful friendliness. A few minutes later, the phone rang and Dot went to answer it. 

“Inspector, it’s for you,” she said, coming back into the parlor a moment later.

“Excuse me,” Jack said to the others, then went to take the call. He hoped he wouldn’t have to leave.

“Sir, we’ve taken a suspect into custody,” said the junior detective on the other end of the line. “One of the Italian blokes we followed earlier.”

“What are you charging him with?”

“Trespass and assault. We brought Markham in and he identified the bloke as the one who beat him up yesterday.”

“Good. Let him stew overnight and I’ll deal with him in the morning,” Jack said, not intending to miss a morsel of the meal that was waiting. 

“Inspector,” Mac said quietly as he hung up the phone. “May I have a word.”

“Of course,” Jack matched her quiet tone. 

“I know Miss Strano told you how she got her bruises, but,” she hesitated a moment before continuing. “They’re not all recent.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some are over a month old,” Mac said, filling Jack in on Concetta’s story about being pushed down the stairs. “There may be other injuries older than that, but she wouldn’t elaborate.”

Jack rubbed his face with his hand as anger churned his gut. His heart ached for Concetta and he would do whatever was in his power to help her escape her grandfather’s clutches. 

“You can’t tell her I told you,” Mac was saying, placing a hand on his forearm for emphasis. “But you need to know, for police reasons,” she justified. “Catch those bastards, alright?”

“I will,” he nodded. 

“Everything all right?” Hugh asked when they returned to the parlor. 

“They caught one of the thugs who followed the decoy,” Jack announced, going to stand next to Concetta. “A witness identified him and he’ll be spending at least one night in jail.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, but Concetta’s eyes revealed what he already knew: Papa Antonio was not going to just let her go, and more thugs would follow. 

Mr. Butler called them all to the table and they were soon enjoying the sumptuous flavors of Concetta’s cooking. Wine and conversation flowed easily, and again Jack noticed the distinct avoidance of the topic of Phryne’s absence. It was just as well, as he found himself easily returning Concetta’s smiles and under-the-table touches this evening, and even initiated a few of his own. He saw Dot glancing at him with concern a few times, but he ignored it. He shoved his conflicting emotions into a corner of his heart and focused on what was right in front of and beside him: a delicious meal and a caring woman. 

++++

“Hugh, I’m even more worried about the Inspector and Miss Fisher tonight than I was last night,” Dot whispered over the sloshing of dish water.

“You’ll be glad to know I am now, too,” Hugh said.

“Really?” Dot turned to look her husband in the eye. “Was it the hand-holding under the table that gave you a clue, or the way he looked at her?”

“Neither. It was the letter he received from Miss Fisher today at the station,” Hugh said with a knowing arch of his eyebrows. 

“A letter! From Miss Fisher? Are you sure?” Dot gasped.

“As sure as it said ‘P. Fisher’ with a London address on the envelope,” Hugh said. “And I recognized her handwriting.”

“Did the Inspector say anything about it?”

“No, he read it in his office with the door shut and didn’t say a word about it afterward. Then again, it was the end of the day and we had to sneak out of the station.”

“It must not have been a good letter, then,” Dot said.

“Why?”

“Hugh, why would Inspector Robinson be so friendly with Miss Strano tonight if the letter had been in any way encouraging of his love affair with Miss Fisher?”

“Love affair? Dottie, you’ve been reading too many Table Talk magazines.”

“Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson love each other; it’s as plain as the nose on your face. Even you agreed with me last night that they were sweethearts. Miss Fisher must have said something to make him think she didn’t love him anymore.” Dot’s voice broke and tears filled her eyes.

“Dottie,” Hugh said, putting down his dish towel and taking her into his arms. “Unless the Inspector tells us what’s in that letter - which he would probably never do - we can’t know what’s going on between them. Things aren’t always what they seem, but I know it’s complicated for them.”

“I know, I know,” Dot sighed, relaxing against Hugh’s strong chest. “We have to let them figure it out for themselves.”

“Right,” Hugh said, pulling back and looking in her eyes. “And we can be grateful that it’s not complicated for us, all right?” She nodded and he kissed her, and they went back to the dishes. 

++++

“Dorothy said I could read any of the books I liked,” Concetta said, sitting next to Jack on the couch in the parlor. Between cocktail hour, dinner and the one in his hand, Jack was on his fourth - or was it fifth? - glass of wine, and his insides were warm and his limbs and tongue were loose. 

“I can only imagine what you might have found to read amongst that collection,” Jack said with a curious smile, knowing all too well the tastes of the owner of the books in question.

“I decided to read a book of poetry by Henry Lawson,” she said.

“Did you now,” Jack said, even more curious.

“I thought, since I live in Australia, I should learn more about the people. And what better way than through their poetry, si?”

“An excellent choice,” Jack nodded. “And what did you learn?”

“That there is a lot more to Australia than I realized,” she said. 

“That’s true. People who’ve lived here all their lives never get to see the half it,” Jack replied. 

“I also learned that for a young country, you have many proud traditions already,” she added. “I want to learn as much as I can.”

“So you have no interest in returning to Italy?” Jack asked.

Concetta made a scoffing sound. “If I want to get away from ma famiglia, I can’t go back there. When Papa Antonio left the village to come here, my father became the Padrino in the village. Going back there would be, how do you say? Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

“Well, having you here may be Italy’s loss, but it’s Australia’s gain,” Jack said, lifting his glass to her. And his own gain, as well, he thought but didn’t say. They sipped their wine and let a quiet moment pass between them.

“Concetta,” Jack began, taking her hand and looking carefully at her. 

“Si, Gianni?”

“Even though we arrested one today, I have a feeling your grandfather may send more of his thugs tomorrow.”

“Of course he will, Gianni. That is why I had Mr. Butler send a telegram to my relatives in Perth today when he went to the market. Hopefully, I can leave soon.”

“They’re not part of the Camorra?”

“It’s almost impossible to get away from the Camorra,” she said. “But I will be far away from Papa Antonio. I have a chance for a better life there.”

“You deserve a better life, Concetta,” Jack nodded, thinking of what he’d learned from Mac. 

“You showed me there is better. You are always kind to me. I just had to be patient for the right time.” She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. 

“Even if you leave, Papa Antonio will still try to bring you back. There’s only one way he will let go.”

“What is that, Gianni?”

“You have to talk to him yourself.” Jack watched her face as she struggled with his words. Shock, disbelief and anger passed in her eyes.

“E pazzo,” she snapped. “That is crazy.”

“Antonio is a very traditional man,” Jack said. “He doesn’t understand how you could want to do something differently than what he’s always known. But he must care about you, or he wouldn’t bother to look for you. You are the only one who can explain to him why you have to go, and that you mean no disrespect.”

“Gianni, the only reason he wants me back is to marry me off to Stefano to make peace with the Bianchi family and have more power.”

“Are you sure that’s all he cares about?” Jack certainly wasn’t sure after looking into Antonio’s eyes today, but he wanted to hear Concetta’s version. 

Concetta sighed. “When I first arrived, and for the first two years I was married to Fabrizi, he was kind and loving to me, which made it almost bearable to be married to Fabrizi.”

“What changed?”

Concetta looked down and away for a moment, and Jack waited patiently. 

“I was going to have a baby,” she said quietly. “But I lost him, way too early.”

“I’m so sorry, Concetta,” Jack whispered, putting his glass down and taking her hand in both of his. He had known of far too many miscarriages and it always felt like a grave injustice. 

“Papa stopped being so kind to me after that,” Concetta added.

“Is that when he started hurting you?” Jack asked quietly, tipping her chin up with a knuckle.

“Si,” she nodded. “He wanted an heir, in Australia. But Fabrizi wouldn’t touch me after that. He said my body was cursed. And Papa would not hit Fabrizi.” She looked away again as tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. 

Jack took her wine glass from her and set it on the table, then wrapped her in his arms. She cried for a little while and he handed her his handkerchief. By his calculation, the abuse had begun roughly three years ago; he couldn’t imagine enduring that for so long, but he knew how it felt to be locked in a battle you couldn’t escape. Her battlefield was Strano’s, his had been France, but the psychological trauma was the same. 

“Grazie,” she said, catching her breath and dabbing her eyes one last time. “I’ll wash this and give it back tomorrow.”

“Keep it,” Jack said, reaching up to brush back a wisp of hair that had fallen across her forehead. 

“I thought it would feel good,” she said. “Leaving Papa, and the restaurant. But cooking his food today, it was harder than I expected.”

“It’s a big change, it’s going to take time to adjust,” he said. 

“And when I think about leaving Melbourne, leaving you, Gianni,” she looked up into his eyes. “It scares me. I feel safe with you. Even if you don’t kiss me.”

He wanted to let go of her and stand up, wanted to look away from those warm brown eyes that promised comfort and simplicity. He wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t being drawn into a tangled web from which his own escape would be just as challenging as hers. But it was too late.

“Gianni,” she whispered, like a breath of summer, her hand warm on his cheek. His resolve slipped and he kissed her. Her lips tasted of wine and companionship, a welcoming port in his Phryne-less storm.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispered when they broke for air. 

“You can’t take something that I am freely giving you,” she said. Her hands unwound from his neck and she deftly undid the top buttons of her sweater, allowing it to fall open in a deep V. Jack leaned in and kissed her again, tracing her cheek, neck and collarbone with his fingers, allowing his mouth to follow. Concetta’s soft sighs urged him on and his lips moved toward the edge of her neckline, and his hand dropped to her breast. 

He pushed up on her breast, causing it to pillow upward, and he buried his lips in the soft skin. She moaned and slid her knees over his, as she’d done last night, and he pulled her onto his lap with his other hand around her waist. He leaned back against the couch, easing her with him, kissing her deeply, this time allowing his arousal to press and grow against her thigh without pulling away. 

“Stay with me tonight, Gianni,” she said, her fingers toying with his tie and shirt buttons. “Show me what it means to be safe with a man.”

“Concetta,” he breathed, her words burrowing deep into his psyche where justice and chivalry lived. “I don’t know that I’m the man for that job,” he replied, though he very much wanted to be.

“I trust you, Gianni. Always.”

He kissed her again, his desire to be needed and trusted fueling his actions. He smoothed his hand down her leg, found the hem of her dress, and tucked his fingers under to slide his hand up her thigh, past the top of her stocking and on to her bare skin. She had loosened his tie and spread open his collar, her fingers swirling into his chest hair, her mouth hot on his jaw, earlobe and throat. His arousal twitched against her and stars sparkled behind his eyelids. 

He gulped, took her hands in his own and stood up, bringing her with him, a silent ‘yes’ to her request. He held her close and stroked her cheek. “I promise, you can always trust me,” he breathed. 

She nodded and stepped back. “Follow me,” she said softly, picking up their wine glasses and leading him through the rear door of the parlor and into the kitchen where she set the glasses in the sink without washing them. Then she led him to the back stairs and up to the second floor. 

++++

Mr. Butler heard two sets of footsteps on the back stairs above his room, and it didn’t take a detective to understand what was happening. He poked his head out into the hall, hearing those footsteps move toward a certain guest room, and he nodded to himself and went to lock up. 

He had gotten used to Miss Fisher’s overnight visitors, though they had all but disappeared after the night Inspector Robinson had been knocked out by Baron Fisher’s nerve tonic. He had presumed that maybe Miss Fisher and the Inspector had come to some sort of agreement and the Inspector would become her favored overnight guest, but that had never materialized. 

He wasn’t one to express an opinion on these matters, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any. In fact, he had been hoping for a long time that Miss would finally settle on the Inspector, and he was glad when her parade of visitors dried up. He had caught glimpses of their closeness when the Inspector would stay late for a drink. Scraps of conversation and laughter had floated out of the parlor into his ever-vigilant ears. It was obvious they cared about each other very much. 

He hadn’t been oblivious to the attention that the Inspector had paid to Miss Strano, either. From the moment they’d walked in the door yesterday, he sensed there was something between them. He had learned more over dinner when the Inspector had waxed poetic about the cooking at Strano’s and how often he’d eaten there after the Fabrizi case went cold, but it was easy to see that it was more than just the food the Inspector enjoyed. 

While he didn’t know what had gone on between Inspector Robinson and Miss Strano before she arrived, he knew what was going on now and a sense of disappointment settled around him. He liked the Inspector, and wouldn’t think ill of him - heaven knew there were enough criminals in the city to do that. No, Tobias Butler would do all he could to make the Inspector’s stay comfortable, while maintaining the utmost discretion. On the way back to his room he washed the two wine glasses, then headed off to bed.   
+++


	4. The Writing On The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - This Chapter is "Rated E". If you've made it this far, then I hope you'll keep an open mind and keep reading.

A small lamp on the nightstand partially illuminated the room, casting intriguing shadows and diffusing to murky gray in the far corners. Jack noted the light and airy walls and furnishings, and tried to mentally block out comparisons to what he remembered about the room across the hall. But he couldn’t block it out, couldn’t forget where he was or the many pleasant hours he’d spent under this roof; could never forget the woman who owned it, even as her recent letter burned a hole in his heart. 

He turned back to Concetta who was sitting at the vanity, taking off her shoes, and regarding him with a soft smile. For the second time since they’d known each other, she was offering herself to him, and this time in a specific and tangible way. He hadn’t been blind to her desire for him all those months, but until she’d come right out and said it, he had hoped maybe it would fade, or she’d find someone else. And however ignoble, he had not discouraged her in any way, either, allowing himself the indulgence of her company and attentions, even after he’d realized his love for Phryne. He had been deeply unsure of Phryne’s feelings for him until right before she’d left, and in the back of his mind had convinced himself that Concetta would still be there when Phryne finally disposed of him. Sadly, by his reckoning, that day had come, and it seemed no small coincidence that Concetta had crossed his path at exactly the same time.

She walked toward him on the plush carpet and they stood toe-to-toe, offering their needs to each other. Her dark eyes met his with a mix of nerves and desire. Concetta had chosen freedom over subservience, and she didn’t need Jack to make her happy or complete, but she wanted him and felt safe with him. He didn’t want to think about what had brought her to the place of asking him to show her what it meant to “be safe with a man,” but his sense of duty didn’t want her to leave without knowing. Soon she would be gone from Melbourne, and if he could help her be more prepared for her new life, then he would do whatever he could. If it helped him forget his heartache for a little while, all the better. 

She stepped close, a nervous smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and she placed her hands on his chest. He laid his palm gently against her cheek and she leaned into it. “Gianni,” she sighed. That was all the encouragement he needed. His hands found her hips and he pulled her close and kissed her, and she relaxed into him. 

She slid her hands gently up and over his shoulders, under his jacket until it started to fall off and slide down his arms. He caught it before it fell and tossed it toward a chair, then stepped quickly out of his shoes. She made quick work of removing his waistcoat, undid a few more buttons on his shirt, then leaned up to place her warm lips right on his carotid artery. His blood pulsed against her mouth and he let a small moan lift from his throat while his groin twitched.

“You see, Gianni,” her lips moved against his neck, down into the V of his open collar. “I know what you like.” 

“Tell me what you like, Concetta,” he replied, finding the closure of her dress at the nape of her neck and deftly undoing it, allowing his fingers to brush against her skin. 

“That’s nice,” she said, relaxing against his chest as he found all the closures, pulled the dress open across her back and slid it off her shoulders and down her arms. 

“Mio Dio, cara mia,” Jack breathed in anguish at the sight of the bruises across her shoulders, back, and arms. He smoothed his hands softly over her skin, wishing that would magically make them disappear. 

“Non e’ niente,” she replied, looking up at him again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Jack said with all seriousness, and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She sighed and clung to him. Bruise by bruise, inch by inch, Jack kissed every place he could find, redeeming every splotch of savagery with tenderness and care. He turned her half way ‘round so he could continue his gentle ministrations across her back, tucking his fingers under her camisole to slide it off her shoulders, until it, along with her dress, fell in a puddle at her feet. 

Yes, he cared for her. Yes, he’d wanted her, too - especially on those nights he’d needed a soft caress, a quiet release, and an emotional pillow during the months before and after his divorce, when he’d felt alone and unloved. But he’d never pursued it, choosing instead to be her rock in the aftermath of her husband’s death. He’d found satisfaction in that, as he always did when helping others, but there were moments when he’d wished she could have helped him. 

Now she was in his arms, not knowing how much he needed what she was offering, even though she thought he was helping her - and help her he would. He moved his hands around to cup her breasts and she leaned back against him with a soft whimper and murmured Italian. The lilting language with rounded vowels was like a babbling brook on a summer day and Jack swirled his thumbs over her hardening nipples. “Continuate,” he breathed into her ear and she did, whispering beautiful but unintelligible phrases as he pressed his lips to her skin.

“Concetta, before we go any further,” he whispered into her neck, his head swimming with wine and desire. “Did you say Dr. MacMillian helped you with some,” he paused, “female things?”

“Si, already taken care of,” she replied. 

“Oh, good,” he exhaled, letting his mouth drop to her shoulder again, and his hands moved down her abdomen, sliding over the silk of her lingerie.

She moaned, then turned back to face him, her mouth eagerly finding his. The last remnants of his resistance fell away, and he dipped his tongue between her lips as she pushed off his braces, and unfastened his fly. His trousers fell to his feet and his erection tented his shorts. Her fingers made quick work of the rest of his shirt buttons and in one swoop of fabric, his shirt fell to the floor and he was bare chested before her.

“Gianni,” she whispered, followed by more Italian as her fingers danced over his skin and her lips lit fires wherever they touched his neck and shoulders and chest. He pulled her into his embrace, and she hung on to his neck and leaned back against his arms, and he dropped his head to her breast, covering her nipple with his mouth while she whimpered. 

Her knees went slack and he caught her before she slipped out of his arms. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking into her eyes for confirmation.

“Si,” she replied dreamily, catching her breath. He guided her to the bed where they sat down and Jack wrapped his arm around her. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Your kisses make me dizzy, Gianni,” she smiled. He must have looked worried because she touched his cheek and whispered something in Italian, then clarified, “I like it very much.” 

Still smiling, she unsnapped her hose from her garter and slid the silky stocking down her leg. Jack couldn’t be sure if she was teasing him or not, but when she finished with that one, he reached over and unsnapped the other one himself. Concetta raised an eyebrow at him while he pulled her leg over his knee and slowly removed her other stocking, caressing her leg as he went. The rest of their undergarments found their way to the floor and Concetta stood in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“One more thing, Gianni,” she said, straddling his knees and perching on them. The heat from her core radiated out and warmed his legs, and he watched, enthralled, as she reached up and started pulling pins from her hair. Section by section the dark rolls unfurled, falling down her back in long waves of black curls. Lastly, she reached up and removed the traditional-style wooden comb, shook her head, and the rest of her hair fell free, swinging around to frame her face and sweep over her breasts. 

“Bella cara,” Jack whispered, his limited Italian phrases wholly suitable for the moment. 

“Bello tesoro,” she replied, reaching out to graze her fingers over his torso, leaving a trail of sizzle and gooseflesh as she went.

He leaned back and pulled her to him, the dizzying effects of the wine finally hitting him now that he was horizontal. His hands splayed across her back, moving down to ride gently over the lovely curve of her arse. Her fingers combed through his hair as their tongues tangled, and his erection throbbed between them. 

He lifted her off him in a smooth roll, setting her head on the pillow and propping himself on his elbow beside her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and smiled down at her, then leaned in and kissed her gently, his fingers trailing down her neck and across her collarbone. He opened his hand and smoothed it over her breasts, twirling her nipples between his fingers as she sighed and moaned. Slowly he moved down across her abdomen, teasing the edges of her dark curls before sliding his hand between her thighs. 

“May I?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Si,” she replied, and he pressed on the inside of her thigh to slide it over and give him access. 

Her skin was hot to the touch and he softly brushed her curls with his fingers, then covered her with his palm, feeling her heat transfer to his hand. Slowly he parted her dense curls, as deep and dark as a mysterious forest, finding her soft folds and teasing them open. The slick, tender skin called to him and his fingers reveled in the dampness. He watched her face as he touched her, eyes closed, mouth parted, breathing labored, tiny whimpers escaping from her lovely throat.

“Concetta,” he breathed into her ear. “Has a man ever kissed you where my fingers are?”

“No, never,” she gulped.

“And you said you trust me?”

“Completely, Gianni,” she breathed.

Jack settled in between her legs, bending her knees and encouraging her to let them fall open. She did and he began kissing the insides of her thighs, sucking and nibbling gently as his mouth moved closer to the secret forest where they met. He spread her folds open with his fingers and touched the tender skin with his tongue. She gasped with the jolt of the new sensation.

“Bene?” he asked.

“Mmm, bene,” she replied, panting.

He resumed his attentions, slowly increasing the spread and movement of his tongue to cover all the delicious real estate. When he finally swept his tongue over her clit, she cried out and then instantly covered her mouth and looked down at him, horrified that she’d been so loud. 

“Best to be quiet,” he whispered, “but relax. Let go. You’re free, remember?” She flopped her head back and grabbed the other pillow to cover her mouth, and he grinned as he turned back to her increasingly wet cunt. Now that she was familiar with the sensation, he covered her with his mouth and lapped up her secretions, then stiffened his tongue and pressed it against her opening, swirling it around the edges, feeling her muscles tighten as she arched toward him. 

He slipped a finger inside her and she cried out into the pillow as he moved it slowly in and out. After a few strokes, he added a second finger and she clamped down around them. He continued to let his tongue slide between her folds while crooking his fingers to press on that certain spot. Her body thrust against him and her muscles tightened even further. 

He lifted his head and said quietly, “Let go, cara mia,” then used his tongue to massage her clit. 

“Oh, oh, OH!” she cried into the pillow as her body convulsed, followed by a long keening sound muffled by goose down. 

A few minutes later, after she’d caught her breath, he got up and found a towel on the washstand to wipe his face and hands then snuggled next to her in the bed. She rolled toward him, still slightly panting, her nipples rubbing against his chest as they rose and fell with her breathing. 

“What happened, what was that?”

“That, my dear, was an orgasm,” he replied, tipping her chin up and smiling softly at her. Her eyes widened, then she smiled back shyly and giggled. 

She said something in Italian then asked, “Can we do it again?” Jack wrapped her in a hug, chuckling softly at her innocence and sincerity. Being married and becoming pregnant didn’t guarantee she knew all she needed to know, about lovemaking or her own body, and he understood even more deeply now what she had meant about being “safe with a man.” And if she wanted to have another orgasm, he was happy to oblige. 

“Certamente,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his erection. “Por favore?”

“Si,” she smiled, and she stroked him while he kissed her. Her long fingers wrapped around him and played over him, and he bent over and suckled her breasts again. Soon his thoughts were swirling and his groin aching with need. He rolled her onto her back and she spread her legs to make room for his. 

“Pronti?” he asked and she nodded. He reached between her legs and swirled his fingers gently in her wet folds, still swollen from her earlier release. He spread the moisture on the tip of his cock and then guided himself toward her entrance. Slowly he pushed inside her, the heat of her body enveloped him and he gasped. It had been far, far too long, and he dropped his forehead onto the pillow next to her and panted as he sunk the rest of the way into her soft, hot core. 

“Ahh, Gianni,” Concetta sighed, murmuring in Italian and Jack was transported to a grassy field beside that babbling brook on that warm summer day. After a moment, he gently pulled back and started an easy, pulsing rhythm, willing his body into control, watching her face to make sure she was all right.

She matched his rhythm, wrapping her legs around him and gripping him tightly. Her muscles tightened around him, and she whimpered with pleasure. Soon he was close, but he wasn’t going to leave her behind.

“Do you feel it, Concetta,” he whispered. “Can you feel it like last time?”

“Almost,” she replied, nodding simply, as if she’d been this way before. But Jack was going to take her farther, down a new path of liberation and discovery. He eased off her a bit, found her right hand and positioned it between them, her fingers on her own body. 

“Go on,” he whispered. “Touch yourself, like I touched you.” He watched her face as she found a spot, her eyes widening then rolling back in her head. He began to move again, stars spinning behind his eyelids as he got closer, but holding back as much as he could. She thrust her hips against him and he sensed her need to speed up so he did, and when her hips arched hard against him and her body convulsed, he captured her cries with his mouth. Her orgasm triggered all his nerve endings and with a few more quick thrusts of his own the dam burst and he went sailing over the edge of oblivion after her, crying out into the pillow next to her head. 

Moonlight filtered through the lacy curtains a little while later as they cuddled in the dark, whispering. 

“That is how it’s supposed to be, si, Gianni?” she asked. 

“It can be however you want it to be,” he replied. “But you should always be comfortable and always be able to say no. If it hurts, if you want to stop and he won’t, then that’s not how it should be.”

“Fabrizi didn’t care,” she said. “He did what he wanted and then fell asleep.”

“Well, falling asleep is quite common, so don’t fault a man for that,” Jack cautioned, “but the rest…” he thought for a moment before continuing. “No man should just take what he wants from a woman, not without her permission and not without seeing to her needs as well.”

“I thought I just needed to feel safe,” she said. “I didn’t know there was so much more.”

“I am at your service, cara mia,” he said as he nibbled gently on her shoulder. 

“And you? Did you get what you needed, Gianni?”

“More than you know,” he replied, whispering against her neck and stroking the length of her. “Your body is not cursed, Concetta. Don’t let anyone tell you that again. I have been blessed to be with you tonight.”

“Gianni,” she began after a moment of thought. “How you kissed me, down there… that is illegal, si?”

Jack chuckled softly. “Your grandfather is the padrino of an Italian crime family, I’m a senior police detective, and you’re worried about committing a crime with me?”

“So it’s not illegal if I’m with you?” she asked.

“Well, technically it’s still illegal,” Jack explained, “but only if you’re caught and only if the police file charges.”

“You aren’t going to arrest yourself, Gianni?” she teased.

“Too much paperwork,” he quipped and she laughed. “And speaking of paperwork,” he added with a yawn. “I’ll have a stack waiting for me in the morning, thanks to our overnight Italian guest down at the station, so I’d better get some sleep.”

“I am sleepy, too,” she said, matching his yawn. 

“Buona notte, cara mia,” he breathed, kissing her neck and shoulder. 

“Buona notte, Gianni,” she replied with a satisfied sigh. He rolled to his other side, and she waited until he was snoring peacefully then slipped out of bed and put on her nightgown. She picked up all his clothes and laid them out carefully on the chair at the writing desk. Then she collected her own clothing, hung up her dress and left the rest on the bench by the vanity. She used the restroom and brushed her teeth, then climbed back in bed. 

She knew his heart still belonged to Miss Fisher, and that her own heart belonged to no one. But tonight, he had needed her, though she didn’t know why. She could sense it in his kiss, taste it on his tongue, and then… She sighed. The things he had shown her, the things her body could do, were shocking and beautiful, and he had enjoyed it as much as she. He wanted her to know and to feel these things, wanted to be the one to show her. He had shown her a whole new world, and she hoped they could explore more of it together.

+++

Dot awoke in the middle of the night hankering for a glass of milk, and maybe a biscuit. She didn’t know how she could still be hungry after all that food at dinner, but she couldn’t sleep when her stomach growled. She took a flashlight and went down the back stairs to the kitchen, and a sweep of her light toward the door gave her a start.

She thought it was a man standing there, but when she flipped on the switch, she found it was just a coat and hat on the hooks. She exhaled a sigh of relief and turned toward the ice box. She was reaching for the handle when realization struck and she spun around. She recognized that coat and hat, and had never seen them in the kitchen before, much less anywhere in the house at three am. 

She walked over to where the coat was hanging and turned the front lapel back, just to be certain. There, on the bottom edge of the men’s store label, was a name stitched by her own hand as a favor for the coat’s owner: J. Robinson. She found the same inside the brown felt fedora. Not that she needed any confirmation, she’d recognize that coat and hat anywhere. What she needed was an explanation that made sense to her heart. 

She turned out the light and went back upstairs, her snack forgotten. There was no way she could eat now anyway, with her heart heavy and her stomach churning in confusion for her friends. She cried a little, feeling a loss she couldn’t name, and when Hugh rolled over and wrapped his arm around her middle and asked what was wrong, she told him it was just a bad dream. 

++++

“Good Morning, Inspector,” Mr. Butler said with a calm smile when Jack entered the kitchen via the back stairs the next morning. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did, thank you,” Jack answered perfunctorily before realizing how that reflected on himself and Concetta. The fact was, he’d slept better than he had in quite a long time, and being with Concetta certainly had something to do with it. 

“Would you like a cup of tea? And I’m making oatmeal if you have a few minutes,” Mr. Butler offered. Jack hesitated at first, looking at his watch. “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Collins don’t usually come down for another thirty minutes,” Mr. Butler added.

“Yes, that would be fine then, thank you,” Jack replied, his stomach rumbling as he caught a whiff of the oatmeal cooking. He actually had been concerned about Dot or Hugh seeing him this morning, knowing how awkward that would be for all of them, but Mr. Butler’s finely honed instincts put him at ease. He added sugar to his tea and helped himself to a few orange wedges on the table while he waited for the oatmeal. 

“Do you put anything in your oatmeal, Inspector?” Mr. Butler asked, handing him a steaming bowl. 

“A dollop of molasses if you have it,” Jack said, knowing Mr. Butler would be filing that bit of information for future reference. 

“Certainly, sir.” Mr. Butler handed Jack a small jug and Jack poured a bit into his oatmeal and stirred it, trying to remember the last time he’d actually sat down to eat in the morning. 

“Mmm, Mr. Butler,” Jack said around a satisfying mouthful. “I know my being here overnight was unexpected,” he began, not really sure where he was going to go with that statement, but leaning toward something that would excuse the impropriety, if not offer an outright apology.

“That’s quite all right, Inspector. You are always welcome here.”

“Oh, uh… thank you,” Jack replied, realizing he didn’t need to explain himself to Mr. Butler. He supposed there were worse things Mr. Butler could have said. 

“How long do you think Miss Strano will be able to stay here before her grandfather finds out where she is,” Mr. Butler asked. 

“Hopefully until she is able to leave Melbourne,” Jack replied with his brain, but a twinge of sadness pricked his heart at his own words, and his body wouldn’t soon forget the feel of her. “Or until she convinces her grandfather to leave her alone,” he added, but that was probably wishful thinking on his part. 

“Well, I’m keeping reinforcements handy,” Mr. Butler said, opening a cabinet to reveal the stock of a rifle hiding among some pots and pans. 

“Good plan,” Jack nodded, knowing from experience that the home was well armed and well guarded. “That hit the spot,” he added, scraping his bowl and licking the spoon. “Thank you for breakfast, Mr. Butler.”

“You’re welcome any time, Inspector,” Mr. Butler smiled in the pleasant and serviceable way he always did. No accusations, no opinions, just simple, straightforward, and hospitable. Jack collected his hat and coat from the hooks by the door, said his goodbyes and left. 

+++

“Mr. Butler,” Hugh asked, coming into the kitchen just as Jack was shutting the kitchen door behind him and walking past the window and up the lane to the street. “I heard voices. Was that Inspector Robinson?”

“Yes, it was.”

“What was he doing here so early?” Hugh asked, confused. “Did he need me for something?”

“No, he was just headed home to change before going in to the station,” Mr. Butler said matter of factly, and Hugh watched as Mr. B collected a tea cup and an empty bowl that had once contained oatmeal from the kitchen table. 

Hugh’s insides twisted as he deduced what happened; Inspector Robinson had stayed overnight, and most likely with Miss Strano, just as Dot had feared. He was surprised at the impropriety from his usually very proper boss, but he was no longer shocked that people who weren’t married slept together. He wasn’t upset about the idea of the Inspector and Miss Strano being together, as Dot was, since he didn’t worry about his boss’s romantic life the way Dot worried about Miss Fisher. As long as the Inspector wasn’t arguing with or angry at Miss Fisher, then he didn’t bark at Hugh, and that made life a whole lot easier for everyone at City South. 

With Miss Fisher gone, however, Inspector Robinson had tried his best to cover up a range of emotions over the last two months. There were times when he’d seemed distracted, or they’d be at a crime scene and he’d look around as if expecting something, then shake his head and get back to the evidence. Hugh tried hard to fill in for Miss Fisher with evidence gathering and spinning theories, but he and the Inspector seemed to have an unspoken understanding that it wasn’t the same without her. 

There’d been no time for Hugh to gauge the effect of Miss Fisher’s letter on the Inspector, but discovering that he'd stayed overnight with Miss Strano seemed to support Dot’s hunch that the letter didn’t contain happy news. Since Miss Fisher had left, Hugh had caught his boss staring at her telegram a couple times a week, just for a moment and then slipping it back into his desk. Maybe he’d do the same with her letter, but Hugh had a hunch he wouldn’t. And maybe Hugh better just concentrate on his own job and not worry about his boss’s romantic life. As the Inspector himself had reminded him, things aren’t always what they seem, and it’s best to gather all the evidence first. Hugh sighed and took his cup of tea back up the stairs to shave and get ready for work.  
++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Aren't you glad you stuck with it?


	5. "I've Learned My Lesson Well"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Back, brave souls!  
> Glad you've chosen to keep reading!  
> ++++++

Jack walked out into the early morning sunshine with a spring in his step. He couldn’t deny the effect the previous night had had on him. His outlook was positive, and he was more rested than he had been in weeks, no sleep tonic needed. He was actually looking forward to going into the station and tackling whatever came his way, including Camorra thugs. 

His thoughts easily returned to Concetta, and his gut warmed at the memory of her soft skin and murmured Italian, her long dark hair and her need to know. An Aussie boy teaching an Italian girl the gentle ways of intimacy? Now there’s a turn-up for the books. 

Their intimacy hadn’t begun last night, however. In the year that he’d known her, their growing friendship had included long talks and quiet understanding. She shared how hard it had been for her to leave her village and come to Australia; he’d shared how he’d struggled coming home after the War. Their hands would touch, their fingers twine and dance on the table between them, as they traded empathetic smiles. He knew she was much younger than him - ten years by his estimation - but that didn’t prevent them from connecting on a deeper level. A light of youthful hope buoyed her personality despite her difficult circumstances, and that light drew him in whenever he was around her.

He’d been charmed and intrigued by her selection of Henry Lawson poems for reading material, so when he’d awoken that morning he looked for the book in her room. He found it on the window seat and turned to his favorite selection, “The Wander-Light”. He sat at the small writing table and penned a brief note: “May you always be ‘at home and at ease’ wherever your dreams take you.” He signed it “Gianni” and tucked it into the book to mark the place, then returned it to the window seat. 

Before he left, he sat next to her at the edge of the bed and brushed her hair off her cheek. She’d awoken, smiled and whispered his name. He’d told her he had to go to work but that she should go back to sleep. She’d sat up and kissed him gently, and he promised to call later. He’d had a moment of deja vu then, memories flooding in of many similar mornings from his long ago newlywed days; a soft kiss, a whispered promise, the slant of dawn through the curtains. It was reassuring and familiar - except for the bruises. 

He’d been shocked at the extent of the bruising across Concetta’s shoulders and back, even after the confidential words of Dr. MacMillan. He’d never seen any bruising on her arms or had any inkling of what she’d been enduring. She’d hidden it well, though thinking back, he could pick out bits and pieces of conversation that painted a picture he never knew was there - until now. Now, the veil had been lifted, and his duty was to help her turn that picture into a distant memory. 

An approaching tram’s cheerful bell rousted him from his thoughts. He checked the number and hopped on at the corner, cutting the last thirty minutes of his walk home down to about five. The tram reminded him he needed to formulate a new plan to leave the station tonight, since he knew Papa Antonio would try again. Maybe a circuitous tram route would suffice. Concetta hadn’t been thrilled about his idea of confronting her grandfather, but he would let it simmer with her until she decided what to do. Until then, he saw no reason not to continue visiting her in the evening. 

He was impressed with the sudden break Concetta was making from her family. She had turned her desperation into action and found the courage to chase her own freedom. Three months ago, she would only have left if he had offered her a place to run to, but now she had reached the point of running for her own sake and with no sure destination. She was not naive about how hard it would be, especially for her grandfather, but she was determined. Reaching out to Jack for help had pulled him back into her story, pulled him closer than he’d expected, and her desire for autonomy so inspired him that he had given himself permission to stay with her last night. How ironic that a woman who had just broken free from her cultural and familial chains would be the one to show him a new level of freedom. 

The tram stopped at a corner just a block from his home, and within moments he was unlocking his front door. He dropped his keys in the bowl on the hall tree, hung up his hat and coat, and headed for his bedroom to shower and change. He pushed his bedroom door open and heard an unusual sound above his head. A large falling object barely registered before everything went black.

++++

“Hugh, I-” Dot began, the hesitancy in her voice catching his attention and he turned to look at her, his face still half covered in shaving soap.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Dottie,” he said, taking her hand. Somehow, he knew she knew. 

“I went down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a drink of milk and saw the Inspector’s hat and coat on the rack by the door,” she said, her voice somewhere between a cry and a whisper. 

“I know,” Hugh said gently. “I saw him leaving this morning when I went down for tea.”

“You did?”

“I didn’t speak to him, he was already out the door, but I saw him through the window.”

“Do you really think he and Miss Strano…,” she trailed off, not wanting to speak the thought, lest that make it true.

“Probably,” Hugh allowed, the optimist in him holding out a glimmer of hope that their deductions were wrong. 

“What are we going to do?”

“Nothing, Dottie. We can’t interfere in the Inspector’s private life,” Hugh declared, turning back to his shaving. “Besides, you told me Miss Fisher had plenty of men stay overnight, so how is this different?”

“She didn’t love any of them!” Dot insisted. “But she loves Inspector Robinson.”

“So if she loves the Inspector as you claim, then why was she having all those other men stay overnight?” Hugh asked, frustrated.

“Because Miss Fisher says that sex doesn’t have anything to do with love,” Dot asserted, to which Hugh raised a startled eyebrow. “Well,” Dot hedged, “for her it doesn’t. She says.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why are you worried about the Inspector and Miss Strano?” Hugh asked, frustrated with trying to sort out Dot’s - or more specifically, Miss Fisher’s - logic. He swished his razor in the water with a little too much force and it banged against the sink, making Dot jump.

“Hugh, don’t you care about them?” she entreated.

Hugh turned to her and put his hands on her arms. “I do, Dottie. I really do. But we can’t interfere. All we can do is,” he paused, looking for the right words that would speak to Dot’s heart as well as her desire to fix things. “Pray, Dottie. All we can do is pray for them and hope they’ll figure it out soon.”

Dot sighed. “You’re right Hugh,” she nodded. “I’ll be sure to say a prayer and light a candle for them when I drop by the Church later to pick up that mending.”

“There you go,” Hugh smiled. “I’m sure that will make you feel a lot better.” 

“And you’re right about something else, too,” she added as she followed him out of the bathroom. “You definitely shouldn’t interfere with the Inspector’s private life.”

“Exactly,” Hugh said. 

But that doesn’t mean I can’t, Dot thought. 

+++

Concetta stretched and yawned as the morning sun streaked across her face through a gap in the curtains. She smiled and sighed, thinking of the night before. A flush of warmth came over her as the memory of Gianni’s touch rose to the surface of her skin. 

Gianni.

She hadn’t known what to expect beyond the basics, and even then, she’d tried to block out the memory of Fabrizi and his rough hands, heavy body, and brutish ways. No one had prepared her before she was sent off to Australia to be married, and any knowledge she gleaned from books, movies, or scraps of conversation had been little more than a single olive in an entire tray of antipasto. She didn’t know that a man could be so gentle, or that she could experience such pleasure herself, but Gianni had opened her eyes. Now that she knew, she wondered what else there was to learn, and hoped Gianni would stay again tonight.

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, careful to follow all of Dr. MacMillan’s instructions with her new device, and returned it to its black pouch. Then she tucked it into the small case she used for her jewelry and the few other treasured mementoes she’d brought with her. One of those other mementoes was a gold, filigree ring her mother Rosita had given her before Concetta had left Italy. It had belonged to Rosita’s mother Sophia and was quite old. Rosita had instructed Concetta to keep the ring a secret from everyone, including Fabrizi and Papa Antonio, and that if something bad happened and she needed to come home, she could sell the ring for passage back to Italy. 

Well, a lot of bad things had happened since then, but nothing bad enough to sell Nonna Sophia’s ring. Concetta took it to the window and let the sunlight play over it, making the diamond throw miniature rainbows on the wall. She slid it onto her finger and decided she liked the way it looked, and she would wear it for dinner tonight. The ring had always represented her freedom, but she had found a way to be free without selling the ring, so far, and she would wear it proudly as a symbol of just that. 

She sat down at the window seat to gaze out over the roofs across the street to the St. Kilda foreshore and the broad, blue expanse of Port Phillip Bay, stretching to the horizon. A deep peace washed over her and she sighed. She leaned against a pillow and bumped into the Henry Lawson book, and when she picked it up to set it on the desk she noticed the note sticking out of the top. 

Her heart leapt when she saw the note from Gianni, and even more so that he’d signed it that way. His words led her to read the poem he’d marked, and she took her time with it, reading through it twice, letting the rhythms and images sweep her up into the heartbeat of the poem. The last two lines spoke to her the most, reaching deep into her spirit and emphasizing her current situation: “I’m at home and at ease on a track that I know not / And restless and lost on a road that I know.”

However familiar it had become, she had felt increasingly restless under Papa Antonio’s roof, like a caged bird. Yet the newness of her freedom felt so natural and her current accommodations so comfortable, she realized her definition of “home” would have to change. 

As she dressed and did her hair, she contemplated Gianni’s suggestion that she would have to face Papa Antonio herself. She didn’t like the idea, but she had seen the way he’d responded when Gianni had revealed Roberto Salvatore’s treachery against their family. Papa had even apologized to her in the wake of Roberto’s arrest, telling her he never would have made the wedding arrangements if he’d known. Would there be any of that care and concern left in him? She hoped so. 

+++

“Has Inspector Robinson come in yet?” Hugh asked Constable Markham around ten o’clock. He’d just come back from interviewing a local jeweler in relation to a robbery, and hadn’t been in the station for more than a few minutes after his eight am clock-in.

“No, not yet,” Markham replied. “He hasn’t called, either.”

“It’s not like him not to call,” Hugh commented, worry creeping up his spine. Had Padrino Antonio’s thugs gotten to the Inspector? Hugh thought fast and took out a small address book from the back of a drawer - a listing of all the addresses and phone numbers of every officer and constable assigned to City South. He grabbed the phone and called Inspector Robinson’s number and waited, and waited, and waited. There was no answer. 

“Markham, call City Central and ask for Inspector Flynn. Tell him it’s an emergency and to meet me at this address,” Hugh pointed to Jack’s address in the little book. 

“Yes, sir,” Markham replied. Hugh dashed into Jack’s office and found the Inspector’s firearm in its case in the bottom drawer, right where it was supposed to be, with a box of ammunition beside it. Hugh loaded it with only mildly shaking hands, the adrenaline building in his system. He collected a holster from the station’s storage closet, plucked the keys to the Inspector’s assigned motor car off the rack, and headed for the door. 

Then a thought stopped him - a promise he’d made that morning, and every morning since he’d been married. He spun around and grabbed the phone again and called home. 

“Dot, I need your help,” he said quickly and calmly, pushing the tremor out of his voice. “I need you to bring a thermos of tea and a tin of the Inspector’s favorite sandwiches to the station.”

“Why?” Dot asked, alarmed. 

“The Inspector didn’t show up this morning and hasn’t called. I’m headed to his house now, to check on him. I just have a hunch the food will help.”

“Of course, Hugh. Do you think it’s the Italians?”

“I don’t know, but that’s my worry.”

“Don’t worry, Hugh, just focus on helping the Inspector.”

“I am. I’m taking his gun with me just in case. I’ll call you if something changes. And Dottie,” he paused. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hugh,” she replied. “I’ll be praying.”

+++

There was a pounding in Jack’s head that wouldn’t stop, or was that someone pounding on the door? He didn’t have time to figure it out before there was a loud crash, followed by running feet and shouted voices headed his way. 

“Inspector! Jack! Inspector!” Two different voices were calling him, rousing him further, the feel of the floor against his face confused and startled him. 

“Oh, God, Inspector, are you all right, sir?” Hugh’s concern was evident in his voice as he crouched down next to him. “Oh, no. Sir, he’s bleeding.”

“Jack, c’mon, mate,” was the calmer voice of Inspector Flynn, stepping over him and crouching on the other side, slapping his face and touching the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. 

“I’m fine,” Jack rasped, though he clearly wasn’t. A powdery substance filled his mouth and tasted acrid and burt on his tongue and he coughed and spit it out. He tried to move, tried to lift his head, but the pounding was growing more noticeable and he moaned. A heavy object was lifted off his back and placed on the floor; it sounded like a rock, confusing Jack even more.

“Grab his legs, Constable,” Flynn said, reaching his arms under Jack’s. “Let’s see if we can get him to sit up.” Jack did his best to help them help him, but sitting up only made him feel woozy. “Let’s lean him against the wall here,” Flynn continued. Jack felt bruised and beaten and he leaned his head back against the sturdy surface, as Flynn crouched in front of him, brushing his face with a handkerchief. “Constable, go get a wet towel.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said, scrambling up and heading off on his task.

“Careful now,” Flynn said, as Jack reached up to touch his head. “You’ve had a nasty blow to the noggin,” Flynn explained. “By this bloody buggar I reckon.” He hefted a rock the size of a loaf of bread with a smear of blood along one edge.

“Damn,” Jack said, wincing as his fingers found the rising lump on the crown of his head, and the spreading moisture he knew was his own blood. He looked around at the floor and made a face. “What the hell happened here?” There were several other large rocks strewn around, along with lumps of coal, and the floor was covered in coal dust and ash. A wooden box, broken and splintered, was also nearby. 

“Looks like someone planted a booby trap for you,” Flynn said. “Must have placed it on top of the door in order to fall on you when you walked in.”

Jack sighed. “Antonio Strano,” he said, taking the damp cloth from Hugh and wiping the dust and ash off his face. “Or one of his thugs, at least.”

“Must have broken in after I left last night,” Flynn said, referring to his decoy mission. “Looking for you. And when you weren’t here, they left this for you. What time did you get back? Have you been lying here all night?” Concern finally began to creep into Flynn’s voice. 

“No, this happened this morning,” Jack said in an effort to ease Flynn’s mind, then realized what he’d just revealed. 

“Hugh, you should know -” Jack began.

“I do, sir. I know.” Hugh’s clipped tone and simple nod indicated that was all that needed to be said. 

“Do you feel like you can stand up?” Flynn asked and Jack nodded. Flynn and Hugh helped Jack to his feet and then to a wooden chair near a window. 

“Is that my revolver?” Jack asked, seeing the weapon on Hugh’s hip for the first time.

“Yes, sir. I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Smart man,” Jack said. “And smart to call Flynn for backup.”

“Speaking of calling, I should call the station to let them know you’re okay,” Hugh said.

“And call Central, too, while you’re at it, Collins,” Flynn said. 

“Will do, sir,” Hugh nodded. He was going to call Doctor McMillan as well, whether the Inspector liked it or not.

“So you spent the night with the Italian girl,” Flynn whispered after Hugh left the room. “Right under your constable’s nose?”

“That’s not your concern, Mick,” Jack grumbled. 

“No wonder the Camorra is out to get you,” Flynn mused. “You could have been killed last night if you’d been here. How long has this been going on with her? And I thought you were cozy with Miss Fisher? What happened to that?”

“Is this some new technique of victim interrogation they’re teaching at City Central?” Jack asked, avoiding all questions.

“Will you be my decoy next time I wanna take a stroll down Little Lonsdale Street?” Flynn joked.

“Gimme that rock so I can drop it on *your* head,” Jack shot back.

“Ah, now you’re feeling better, mate,” Flynn grinned. He slapped Jack on the knee and stood up. “Now, let’s see about getting you into a fresh suit, shall we?”

“The dark gray with the pinstripes is fine,” Jack said, while Flynn sifted through Jack’s wardrobe. “And the maroon tie with the little white designs on it.” Flynn laid the suit and tie on the bed as Hugh came back in the room, stepping carefully over the rocks and dust like he would for any crime scene.

“Collins, what does that box say?” Jack asked, craning his neck as he tried to read it from the chair, still too unsure of himself to try to stand up. 

“Bassi tomatoes, sir,” Hugh said, picking up the broken pieces and showing them to Jack. 

“The same ones the Camorra were pushing on all the restaurants,” Jack remarked. 

“Look at this,” Flynn said, picking up a piece of paper that had been under the box and blowing the dust off it before handing it to Jack. 

“Bring Concetta to Strano’s by midnight, or it will cost you more than a bump on the head,” Jack read. 

“Bloody hell,” Flynn commented. “They don’t play around, do they.”

“No,” Jack replied, setting his jaw. “But neither do I.”

+++

Dot breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived at City South police station and Constable Markham informed her that both Hugh and the Inspector were safe and would be headed back in a little while. Before she’d left the house, she’d rounded up Bert and Cec, and Concetta of course, and explained the situation. Mr. Butler and the cabbies would guard the house, and Concetta would stay away from the windows. 

Confident that the homefront was covered, she caught a tram to City South with more than one mission in mind. She finegled her way into the Inspector’s office on the pretense of not wanting to be exposed to any criminals who might be brought in. Markham didn’t know her from Eve, really, and was unaware of her sleuthing ways, but he was gallant enough to protect her delicate womanhood from the dregs of Melbourne’s streets. 

She closed the door part way, and stepped behind the Inspector’s desk, setting her basket down on the blotter and taking out her knitting. If anyone happened by, she could quickly pick it up and pretend to be working on it. She quietly slid open the wide, flat drawer under the center of the desk and glanced at everything. Right in the front, weighted down by a box of staples, was a folded, but well-worn slip of paper she instantly recognized as a telegram. Hugh had mentioned Miss Phryne had sent the Inspector a telegram, so she swallowed her unease about reading her friends’ mail and carefully pulled it out and opened it up. 

“Dearest Jack. Made it safely. Mother and Father thrilled. Miss you. Yours, Phryne. P.S. Come After Me.”

Dot’s heart warmed at Miss Phryne’s message. Though short on words, it was long on sentiment, and Dot knew it would have great meaning to the Inspector. No wonder he looked at it often, as Hugh had mentioned. She returned the telegram to its spot and shut the drawer. 

Next she turned her attention to the other drawers and knew what she was looking for was in the middle drawer on the right as soon as she pulled it back: Miss Fisher’s distinctive perfume floated out and into Dot’s nose. She found the letter face down in the back of the drawer. It wasn’t covered or tucked carefully into a safe place, as the telegram was. It appeared to have been hastily tossed in and forgotten. This did not bode well for the contents of the letter, just as she’d expected last night when Hugh told her about it. Her instincts were being validated. She took the letter out, being careful to note how it had been lying so she could return it to the same position, and swept her eyes over Miss Phryne’s handwriting, the stamp and postage mark, and the way the top of the envelope had been carefully slit open. Her heart was pricked with a touch of jealousy that the Inspector had received a long-awaited letter and she hadn’t, but she understood and she was hopeful Miss Phryne would write to her too. 

She looked toward the crack in the office door and saw Constable Markam on the phone, so she quickly removed the pages and read the letter. When she came upon the paragraph about the Earl, her heart sank, understanding exactly what had turned off the Inspector. 

“Damnit, Miss Phryne,” Dot huffed under her breath, then added, “Oh, sorry,” with a glance to the ceiling and a quick sign of the cross. How could Miss Phryne be so cavalier with the Inspector’s feelings, she wondered. Didn’t she know how it would make him feel? Of course Miss Phryne wasn’t going to marry the Earl, Dot knew that, and the Inspector probably knew it too, as Miss Phryne let everyone know she wasn’t the marrying kind. But Dot had hoped that her friend would stop seeing other men in favor of the Inspector. Being half a world away couldn’t be helping things. 

Dot shook her head and put the letter back where she’d found it and concentrated on her knitting; the rhythmic motions helping her think. At least she knew what the problem was now, and all she had to do was fix it. It might even require some assistance from the irresistible force known affectionately as “Aunt P.” The yarn flowed quickly and easily through Dot’s fingers and around her needles as she formulated her plan. 

+++


	6. "Hope I Live to Tell"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanted Jack & Hugh bonding and a dose of sassy Mac, right? Yes/No? Well, you've got it anyway.  
> ++++

“You’re probably going to need some stitches, mate,” Flynn said, giving Jack’s head injury another look. “Plus it’s full of dust and ash. You should have that looked at by a doctor.”

“Dr. McMillan is going to come by the station around noon, sir,” Hugh said, reentering the room after looking around outside for any clues left by whoever broke in, but not finding anything. “I called her earlier.”

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack said, grudgingly admitting that he needed medical attention. 

“I didn’t find anything outside and there doesn’t seem to be any further evidence from the,” Hugh paused and waved his arms at the mess. “Box of rocks. Do you want me to clean it up, sir?”

“If you would, that’d be much appreciated,” Jack said. “There’s a broom and dustpan in the closet in the kitchen.” Hugh nodded and went off to collect the cleaning equipment.

“Let me help you get changed and ready,” Flynn said. “Are you sure you want to go into the station?”

“I am,” Jack said. “Once I get moving, I’ll be fine.” Flynn helped Jack stand and supported him until he was steady, then stuck close as Jack shuffled to the bathroom. He collected Jack’s suit jacket and waistcoat for the drycleaners, while Jack peeled off his braces and removed his shirt and undershirt. Looking in the mirror he was shocked at how ashen he still looked, even after wiping his face. He had work to do to make himself presentable. He kicked off his shoes and finished undressing, handing Flynn his trousers to go to the cleaners with the rest of his suit, and tossing his shirt and underclothes in the hamper for laundry day. 

Flynn helped him into the clawfoot tub and stood protectively outside the curtain while Jack gave himself a quick scrub, doing his best to remove all the coal dust and ashes that seemed to cling stubbornly to his skin. He was careful with his hair, the hot water stung the gash made by the rock, but he needed to clean it, and remove all the blood and debris that had been absorbed by what was left of yesterday’s pomade. Flynn handed him a towel when he was done and Jack dressed to his trousers and undershirt, feeling much better, though his head still throbbed and blood still oozed. Flynn pressed at it with a clean cloth until it seemed to stop. 

“You want me to drive you back to City South?” Flynn asked, keeping Jack under his concerned gaze. 

“No, that’s all right,” Jack said. “Collins and I can manage from here.”

“All right, mate,” Flynn said, patting Jack on the shoulder and turning to leave. “Keep me posted, will you?”

“I will. And Mick,” Jack said, and Flynn turned back. “Thanks, mate.”

“Glad you’re alright,” Flynn said, collecting his hat and coat, nodding to Hugh and heading for the front door. “Oh, by the way,” he called from the entrance. “You’re going to need a new door.” Then chuckled to himself and drove away.

“Is there anything else I can do, sir?” Hugh asked from the bathroom door. 

“No, just,” Jack began then sighed. “Just come in here while I finish up, in case I feel lightheaded.”

+++

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said, dutifully taking a seat on the closed lid of the commode and waiting awkwardly while his boss mixed up the shaving soap and brushed it on his face. He examined his fingernails so he wouldn’t stare and settled in for the duration. He would have started a conversation, but he didn’t know what to talk about that wouldn’t sound forced. 

A swishing metallic sound caught his ear and he looked up to see the Inspector starting on his face with a straight razor. Hugh looked away again, then the razor clattered against porcelain and his boss stumbled and grabbed the side of the sink. 

“Woah, shit!” the Inspector cursed.

“Sir! Are you all right?” Hugh said, jumping up and catching his boss under the arms. 

The Inspector pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted, breathing heavily as he struggled against the dizziness. Seconds felt like hours as Hugh waited for the dizzy spell to pass. When finally it did, and the Inspector straightened up and looked at him, Hugh breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t think I’m quite up to this,” the Inspector said, plucking his razor out of the sink and drying it off carefully. “The last thing we need is more bloodshed, so,” he handed the razor toward Hugh. “Would you mind?”

“Sir,” Hugh began, heat creeping up his cheeks. It was one thing to see his boss, his mentor, in such a weakened state, but it was wholly another to perform such a personal grooming task on him. “Are you sure you want to go to the station today? I can call Dr. MacMillan to come here instead and you can rest until you’re feeling better.”

The Inspector closed his eyes and sighed, then opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and put the razor away. Hugh breathed a sigh of relief, until he saw what his boss handed him next: a safety razor. 

“Sir…”

“Would you prefer the straight razor, Collins?”

Hugh pursed his lips, knowing it was futile to oppose the Inspector. “No, sir,” he said, shucking off his embarrassment as much as possible and taking the safety razor from his boss’s hand. “This will be fine.” 

They switched places in the small bathroom, and the Inspector eased himself onto the commode lid. Hugh dunked the razor into the hot water in the sink, but paused when he brought it within an inch of his boss’s face. 

The Inspector wrapped his hand around Hugh’s wrist and looked up at him, a slight uptick at the corner of his mouth showing beneath the shaving soap. “Trust your instincts, Hugh,” he said with an encouraging nod. “It’s just shaving.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right,” Hugh replied. The more his boss trusted him, the more Hugh trusted himself, and he didn’t want to disappoint this man who, if not quite a father figure, was certainly like an older brother. Hugh took a deep breath, pressed his thumb against the side of Jack’s face to stretch the skin of his cheek and pulled the razor down in a smooth, short stroke, letting the weight of the tool do the work. After a few more strokes, Jack sighed and his shoulders relaxed a bit and so did Hugh’s. 

“How did you know, Hugh,” Jack asked after a few moments. 

“Know what, sir,” Hugh replied, feeling a repeat of his conversation with Dot coming on, and hoping his boss wouldn’t be asking about “that”. 

Jack shot him a look when Hugh reached to rinse the razor. “Oh, that, sir,” Hugh said, his gut squirming and his mind trying to focus on the task at hand. “Turn around, please, sir?”

Jack turned to give Hugh access to the other side of his face, but hadn’t forgotten his question. “Spit it out, Collins.” 

Hugh swallowed his nerves and answered. “I saw you leaving this morning.” 

“Does it bother you?” Jack asked. “That I spent the night with Miss Strano?”

Hugh gulped. “No, sir,” was his gut reaction, but it wasn’t stated as firmly as he’d meant it to be. 

“But what?”

Hugh shook the razor in the hot water again and thought for a moment. “I know how important your reputation is to you, sir, and how you do everything by the book. I was,” he hesitated. “I was surprised, sir.”

“Has my reputation suffered in your eyes?”

“No, not at all, sir,” Hugh was firm in his response this time. “Turn this way and lift your chin,” he added and Jack did as he was told. “I just wasn’t expecting to learn something so personal about you, sir,” he added.

“I trust that you can tell the difference between one’s professional reputation and their private life, Hugh,” Jack said.

“Of course, sir.”

“And I trust you can keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, absolutely, sir,” Hugh replied, his motions with the razor becoming more natural and automatic. He found that the conversation actually kept him from concentrating too hard on the shaving, and he was thankful for it. 

“Oh, sir?”

“Hum?” Jack’s reply was muffled due to rolling his lower lip into his mouth to stretch the skin on his chin. 

“Dot knows. She saw your coat and hat in the kitchen when she went downstairs in the middle of the night.”

“Is she upset?” Jack asked, glancing up at Hugh.

“Yes, but probably not for the reason that you think,” Hugh said, swishing the razor again.

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea of exactly what she’s upset about,” Jack said. “Having spent a year in Miss Fisher’s employ, I’m sure her agitation is not for fear of my reputation, or Miss Strano’s.” 

“Dot seems to think you and Miss Fisher -” Hugh wasn’t sure how to express all of Dot’s opinions on the relationship between their respective bosses without sounding like an Agony Aunt. 

“Miss Fisher and I, what?” Jack pressed, turning to Hugh, eyebrows raised in expectation.

“She thinks that you and Miss Fisher should be together, sir,” Hugh said as he checked for missed spots on Jack’s chin and jaw. “And not just in the same city, if you know what I mean. She’s concerned that something bad has happened between you.” 

“And what do you think, Collins?”

“Remember when you sent me fishing, sir?” Hugh asked and Jack mumbled an uh-huh while Hugh worked the razor carefully under Jack’s nose. “You knew I needed to get my head on straight and needed time to think. I was always going to come back to marry Dot. I just needed to make up my mind that whatever happened with my job or her job or the future, that I needed to stop worrying about it and take the risk. That being together is what matters.” So much for his decision not to interfere, Hugh thought.

“So you agree with Dot,” Jack said.

“I think you need to decide what’s most important,” Hugh said, finding a clean cloth and running it under warm water then wiping the bits of shaving soap off Jack’s face. “And Miss Fisher does, too. She’s the one who left and hasn’t come back.” 

Jack gave him a startled look that transformed into curious realization. “An astute observation, Collins,” he allowed. 

“Sir, I would never try to tell you what to do,” Hugh continued, pressing his advantage with the hope that he’d never have to talk about these things with his boss ever again. “Especially not with women. If being with Miss Strano makes you happy, that’s great. Dot will take some getting used to the idea, though, so if you could not leave your hat and coat where Dot might see them, that would be helpful.”

“I understand,” Jack said, giving Hugh a rough pat on the arm. “And thank you for your candor.” He ran his hands over his face and gave Hugh a pleased look. “Fantastic job, Collins. Now, if you would grab my comb and the tin of Murray’s, please.”

“You want me to do your hair, too?” Hugh asked, beginning to wonder just how extensive the Inspector’s head injury was.

+++

“Just the back, around the wound,” Jack said, waving his hand over the general area. “I can’t see it and it hurts like hell, so just if you could just comb around it, I’ll do the rest.”

“Oh, okay, sir,” Hugh said, running the razor under fresh water and drying it well before taking the comb and pomade out of the medicine cabinet. There was a brief exchange about how much pomade to use and after that Jack felt confident Hugh would do a perfectly adequate job. When the back of his head was done, he excused Hugh while he finished the front and sides himself at the mirror, brushed his teeth and pronounced himself presentable. 

“I can wait in the car, sir, if you’d like,” Hugh said, the awkwardness returning. Jack was about to let him go when he bent down to pick up his shoes and almost fell over from the swoon that struck him. “Sir!” Hugh rushed to his side and grabbed him, steadied him and helped him to the wooden chair.

“I guess you’d better stick around, Collins,” Jack said wryly.

“Yes, sir. Gladly, sir. Are you all right?”

“As long as I don’t bend over, I suppose,” Jack said. 

“I’ll take care of your shoes then,” Hugh said without hesitation, and Jack was grateful he didn’t have to ask. The day had been humbling enough already. 

Hugh made quick work of Jack’s footwear, and Jack donned his shirt, waistcoat and suit jacket while Hugh called the station to let them know they were on their way. 

“What do you want to do about your front door?” Hugh asked as they stared at it, swung wide open, the lock mechanism bent and the door jamb splintered from Flynn’s effective kick.

“I think it will sit back in the frame for now and I’ll have a carpenter over to fix it,” Jack said. Hugh shoved the door into the frame and wedged a chair under the handle to prevent easy entry, then they exited through the kitchen door and locked up. 

“I’m sorry about your door, sir,” Hugh said as they walked around to the front.

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Collins,” Jack said. “People’s lives come first, always. Even the criminals.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh nodded. 

“And after you drop me at the station, I want you to come back here and canvas the area, find out if anyone saw anything last night. Lurkers, unfamiliar vehicles, lights on late, flashlights, anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said. “And that large rock that hit you on the head?” He pointed to the offensive block sitting in the back seat of the police car where he’d placed it earlier.

“Yes?”

“It looks like a paving stone. I saw that they were digging up part of the street near the Cavour Club, so it could have come from there.”

“Then you can check on that, too, while you’re out,” Jack nodded. “Good thinking.”

The ride back to the station was quiet, giving Jack time to think while Hugh drove. If Antonio Strano had wanted Jack dead, he would be naked on a gurney in the morgue already. No, the Padrino wanted Jack to tell him where Concetta was, as well as punish both of them for defying him. He was ready to face Antonio any time, on equal footing, but Antonio knew he would lose that battle and instead would continue the threats, bullying and surprise attacks. It was all he understood. Jack, on the other hand, had to be above board and follow procedures, but there were still plenty of options at his disposal. He simply needed to determine which would be the most effective. 

“Did you happen to call Wardlow from my house, to let them know I was all right?” Jack asked Hugh as they pulled up in front of the station.

“I did. They were all happy to hear the news,” Hugh confirmed. “Hopefully Mr. Butler was able to convince Bert and Cec to stay put and not start a war in your defense.”

“I hope so, too,” Jack said. “But always keep supporters like that in your back pocket, Collins. A police officer needs allies in all segments of society.” A statement which highlighted the fact that Jack no longer had any allies in the Italian community. 

+++

Concetta’s heart had dropped like a stone when Dot had gathered them all in the kitchen to tell them the news about Gianni missing from work. Hot tears had sprung to her eyes and her throat was suddenly dry and constricted. She ducked her head and tried to wipe them away without anyone seeing, but Cec, who was standing next to her, rested a gentle, comforting hand on her back. 

“The Inspector’s a tough bastard,” Bert had said. “He won’t go down easy.”

“That’s what we’re all hoping of course,” Dot had replied, then she began giving out orders like a general. Concetta learned she was relegated to staying hidden while everyone else had a job, but she didn’t want to be treated like a fragile piece of crystal. She wanted to do what she could. 

“Let me help you with the food,” she said to Dot, after Mr. Butler, Bert, and Cec had left to scout the outside of the property. 

“Of course,” Dot said. “I’ll let you make the Inspector’s favorite sandwiches.” Dot gave her the ingredients - sliced ham and cheese and a mustard pickle relish - and Concetta set to work while Dot started the tea and collected apples, biscuits, and nuts. It was all amicable enough, but Concetta sensed a coolness toward her from Dot that hadn’t been there the day before. 

“You are upset with me, si?” Concetta asked as they placed all the items in the basket.

“Oh, no, Concetta, I’m not,” Dot sighed and smiled. “I’m just worried for the Inspector and for Hugh.”

“My being here has caused you all so much trouble,” she said. “I should find a different place to stay.”

“No, please don’t think that,” Dot said, taking Concetta’s hands. “We’re used to some trouble around here,” she continued. “With Miss Fisher being a detective, it’s just part of the job. We’ve been drugged, we’ve been tied up at gunpoint, we’ve had people break in and steal paintings, and that’s just some of what’s happened here at the house. Working for Miss Fisher is full of excitement. We’re used to it.”

“And I thought ma famiglia was troublesome,” Concetta said with a wry smile.

“I know it’s not been easy for you,” Dot said. “But I can see that you’re strong, and smart, and that’s what the Inspector needs his friends to be right now.”

“I wish I could do more than hide.”

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“No, never.”

“Then let us protect you until we’re sure you’re safe,” Dot squeezed Concetta’s hand. “I understand how it is: when you’re used to taking care of others, it’s hard to let others take care of you.”

Concetta nodded. “Grazie.” Then Dot had hugged her and suddenly she felt like part of a new family. After Dot had left, Concetta had retreated to her room and taken out her rosary. Kneeling at the side of the bed she prayed, allowing the rhythm and mysteries of her faith to calm her, as it had since she was a girl. She prayed for her new friends who were helping her, but mostly she prayed for Gianni, that he would be alive and uninjured. Before she was finished, she even found a prayer in her heart for Papa Antonio, that he would change his mind and soften his heart toward her.

A little while later, when she’d gone back down to the kitchen, Mr. Butler had informed her that Gianni had been found at his home with only a minor head injury. She was deeply relieved, but also angry and worried. 

“Maybe I should go home, so all this would stop,” she said, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.

“Is that what you really want, Miss?” Mr. Butler asked. 

“If it will keep Gianni and everyone safe, si.”

“Why don’t we wait and see what happens before you make any drastic decisions,” Mr. Butler said. “The Inspector is very good at handling these thorny problems, and I’m sure he would want to talk to you before you make up your mind.”

“Si,” Concetta nodded. She was determined to be free, but she hated that Gianni and his friends were in danger because of her. 

“Why don’t you help me polish the silver,” Mr. Butler suggested. “That will help you take your mind off it.”

“Si, grazie,” she smiled. 

++++

“Oh, that is a nasty one,” Dr. Mac said when she looked at Jack’s head in his office. “What time did it happen?”

“About seven-thirty this morning,” he said, and winced as she palpated the area.

“And what time did they find you?” 

“About ten, I believe. Ow!” The antiseptic she was applying was quite strong. 

“You were out for two and a half hours?”

“Apparently I needed the extra sleep,” Jack said, the pain bringing out some dark humor. He hoped Dr. Mac wouldn’t give him bad news. 

“Did you now?” Dr. Mac replied. “Up late?” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was the third time today he’d accidentally revealed more than he’d wanted to. 

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Dr. Mac said in a conspiratorial voice. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Like Concetta’s were?” He replied, then sighed again. “I’m sorry, Doctor, that was unfair.”

“I’ve been accused of worse, Inspector,” she stood back and crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “But you and I both want justice done. You needed to know that information in order to do your job. Although,” she added, “based on the time of your own injury and where it happened, I suspect you discovered the extent of Concetta’s bruises all on your own.”

“Everyone’s a detective,” he grumbled.

“Good, we’re back to neutral again,” she said, returning to Jack’s head injury. “I think I will give you a pair of stitches, just to make sure this closes properly. Any dizziness or nausea since you regained consciousness?”

“No nausea, but I can’t bend over without getting dizzy.”

“Blurred vision? Weakness in any of your limbs?”

“No, neither.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Well, since it was a vertical blow and not side-to-side, I’m slightly less concerned, but I want you to call me if you have any of those symptoms I just mentioned, all right?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Now let’s see about those stitches.” Dr. Mac dug into her bag for the supplies she needed. “Since we’re not at the hospital, I can’t knock you out. Are you alright with that?”

“Just hand me my truncheon from the coat rack,” Jack said, deciding the wooden police baton would provide adequate resistance, and hoping no one would ask him in the future why there were bite marks on the handle. 

+++

“How’s the patient?” Hugh asked as Dr. Mac walked out of Jack’s office ahead of him.

“I think he’ll be just fine once that wound heals properly,” Dr. Mac said. “Until then, he may be a little cranky.” She glanced over at Jack who made a face at her. “Or a little crankier than usual,” she added with a smirk. “He needs to take it easy for a day or two - no harsh physical activity, police raids, chasing thugs down alleys, breaking up fights. Desk duty, through tomorrow,” she pointed at Jack and he nodded obediently.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, and Dot and Hugh echoed his sentiment and said their goodbyes. 

“And thank you for lunch, Dot,” Jack said, dropping formalities since it was just the three of them. “Greatly appreciated.”

“Anytime, Inspector,” she smiled. “Even if you haven’t just had a head injury.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled back. 

“Hugh,” Dot said, turning to her husband. “I forgot to remind you this morning that we’re having dinner at my mother’s tonight.”

“Shall I just meet you there after work? I may not have time to go home and change.”

“That sounds fine,” she said, and leaned over the counter for a quick peck on the cheek. “Good day, Inspector,” she said as she left.

“Mrs. Collins,” he acknowledged. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, sir?” Hugh asked. “You look… worn out.”

“Well, I am that,” Jack admitted. “But other than that, I’m fine.”

“Then I’ll go run down those interviews you mentioned earlier, with your neighbors,” Hugh said. “And Markham should be back from lunch soon.”

“That’s fine, Collins. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to keep me occupied,” Jack said and wandered back into his office and sat down heavily. As soon as Hugh was out the door, he picked up the phone.

“Gianni!” Concetta’s voice was full of emotion and relief that no phone line could hide, and the soft shush of his nickname on her lips comforted him like a wave of warm water. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” she breathed. 

“So am I,” he replied. 

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you about it tonight,” he said, not really wanting to revisit the experience so soon. “But they left a note. It said to bring you back to Strano’s by midnight.”

“Or what?”

“Concetta,” he began, not wanting to worry her further.

“There is always a threat, Gianni. You think I don’t know that?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jack said. 

“No, I will talk to Papa,” she asserted. “Tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Si. You are right. It is the only way.”

“I won’t let you go alone,” Jack said.

“Of course you will come with me,” she replied. “After the restaurant closes.”

“All right then,” he said. “I’ll make arrangements for police backup. Say around nine o’clock?”

“Si. Will you still come for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” he said. 

“Mr. Butler said Hugh and Dorothy will be at her mother’s tonight, so it will be just the two of us.” Jack could hear the smile in her voice. 

“So I’ve heard. I look forward to having the table all to ourselves,” he said. “Like we used to.”

“Like we used to, si,” she said. “Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be there, si.” They said their goodbyes and he hung up the phone. He picked it up again and called the Deputy Commissioner to explain what was going on, and that he was requesting extra constables for an operation around nine o’clock that evening. The plan started to formulate in his head.


	7. "The Light That You Could Never See"

“Bert, the Inspector is on the phone for you,” Mr. Butler said, returning to the kitchen.

“Aw right,” Bert said, putting down his teacup and heading for the front hall. “Bert here,” he said into the handset.

“Afternoon, Bert,” Jack said. “I have a paying cabbie job for you and Cec. Two jobs actually.”

“Whatever you need, Inspector.”

“Well, the first thing I need is a ride to Wardlow this evening,” Jack said. “Can you pick me up at five-thirty, and park around back of the station.”

“No worries, what else?”

“Are you available around nine o’clock?” Jack outlined his plan and Bert agreed to it. 

“But if this is to help Miss Strano, you don’t have to pay us, Inspector.”

“I won’t be. The Victoria Police will be remunerating you for your first class service.”

“Then who am I to turn down the Victoria Police?” Bert replied, contemplating a healthy markup to their usual bill.

+++

Dot entered the church and made her way up the side aisle to the little alcove where the prayer candles were set out on tiered shelves. She set her purse down and took a calming breath. Reverently she approached the display and selected a fresh votive from a shelf under the candles and used the provided taper candle to light hers. She made the sign of the Cross and held the candle in her hands like a baby bird. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,” she breathed, reciting the Lord’s Prayer to focus her mind and calm her heart. 

“Lord, please help Miss Phryne and Inspector Robinson sort things out between them. I know it’s difficult with Miss Phryne being so far away, but I know you can work miracles. And if there’s anything I can do to help, just show me. Also, Lord, please help Miss Strano find a safe place away from her troublesome family. And if that ends up being with Inspector Robinson, then... that would be wonderful for both of them. And please keep Hugh safe at work. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

She carefully placed the candle among the others and crossed herself again. She felt at peace now that she’d given her concerns to God, believing he would take care of them in His way and time. She was glad she had been kind toward Concetta earlier in the day; the woman needed friends, not judgement, especially not from the Inspector’s friends, to whom her care and protection had been entrusted. And now that Dot knew what Miss Phryne had written that had turned the Inspector toward Concetta, she understood. If Concetta made the Inspector happy, Dot would be happy for them both, but she would hold out hope for Miss Phryne and Inspector Robinson to sort things out. 

She collected her purse and moved on to the classroom building where her weekly batch of mending for the poor awaited her, then home to get ready for dinner at her mother’s. She hoped her mother wouldn’t pester her and Hugh again this week about having children but it was a vain hope - her mother wanted grandchildren like a starving man wanted a hot meal. But Dot had developed a stubborn streak and was prepared to make her mother wait. Maybe in a couple years. 

+++

Mr. Butler handed the telegram delivery boy a threepence tip and glanced at the front of the envelope.

“Telegram for you, Miss,” he said, handing it to Concetta over the kitchen table. “From Perth.” He smiled, and she smiled back, a twinge of excitement dancing in her midsection. She opened the envelope and took out the slip of paper with trembling hands. 

“Delighted for you to join us in Perth. Arr Melb in 2 weeks to escort you. Love, Franco & Maria Agosti,” she read aloud. The P.S. listed the name of the train and the expected arrival date and time. 

“That sounds like very good news,” Mr. Butler said. 

“Si!” she replied and held the telegram to her chest. “Buono notizie,” she breathed. Finally, she would be free. Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked at the message again. “Delighted.” “Love.” Someone wanted her; for the first time since she’d left Italy, someone in her family wanted her, not as a bargaining chip or baby maker, but for who she was - just Concetta. 

“If you’d like to take a break, I can finish up the rest,” Mr. Butler said. 

“Grazie,” Concetta whispered, fighting a sob. “Scusi.” She hurried up the back stairs and to her room, shut the door and fell into her bed and wept. 

+++

Jack rubbed his face with his hands, and stared down at the paperwork on his desk. Though tedious, he’d made progress, and after an hour of plugging away was about halfway through. He stood to stretch but was thwarted by a short dizzy spell. He pressed his palms on the desk to steady himself and waited for it to go away. This one only lasted a few seconds, unlike the lengthier ones this morning, so he was encouraged. 

He reached into Dot’s basket and produced an Anzac biscuit, one of his favorites, refilled his cup of tea from the thermos and turned back to his work. Or tried to anyway. His head was still throbbing, despite the headache powder Dr. Mac had given him, and he was angry with himself for not noticing something was wrong with his bedroom door before the box fell. Papa Antonio’s thugs were marginally clever as well as effective, and the coal dust and ashes were just an extra measure of cruelty. 

He couldn’t be happier that Concetta was breaking free from those people, but the idea of her moving all the way to Perth was an unpleasant one. He enjoyed her company, and always felt relaxed in her presence. Having someone waiting for him at the end of the day with a warm smile was something he’d missed in his life for longer than he cared to calculate. Her words spiraled up from the depths of his memory: “I would give myself completely to you, Gianni. All you have to do is ask.”

He sighed. He couldn’t remember if Rosie had ever breathlessly promised him as much, and Phryne sure as hell wouldn’t. He knew things had changed with Concetta, and that she no longer needed him for her escape, but maybe he was beginning to need her, and maybe her offer was still on the table. 

No. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to travel down that path, especially since his heart was twelve thousand miles away on a completely different path. He took Phryne’s letter out of the drawer where he’d carelessly tossed it yesterday, and tried to read it again, tried to connect once more to the woman he loved, but it seemed hopeless. So he would talk and eat and drink wine and make love with Concetta until she had to leave as well, and then he would retreat behind his armor, avoid women, and throw himself into his work to dull the pain. Just like he had when Rosie had moved out. 

And yes, he would enjoy his time with Concetta, with no reservations or regrets. Even if it was only for a short while, that would make it easier to say goodbye when the time came, though Jack suspected there would be a large hangover in his future once that day had come and gone. Well, he could cope with that. 

He pondered the plan for that night, to escort Concetta to Strano’s so she could speak to her grandfather. It was simple, and he hoped it would be effective, and that the Padrino’s thugs would not start a fight. After tonight, he would look into moving Concetta out of Wardlow, for the safety of those who lived and worked there, and to keep the Camorra away from that sacred place. If it worked out, the new location would allow for him to visit just as easily. 

+++

Dot returned home around three o’clock, and after putting her things away, went straight to the phone and called Prudence Stanley while Mr. Butler was still at the market. She took a deep breath and crossed herself before diving in. 

“Mrs. Collins.” Dot could hear the smile in the older woman’s voice. “How do you do?”

“Fine thank you, Mrs. Stanley, how are you?”

“Well, the new gardener doesn’t know how to prune back my hydrangeas properly, and my gown for the Hospital Board Charity Ball isn’t anywhere near ready and the event is next week!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Stanley,” Dot replied, knowing it was always better to let Miss Phryne’s aunt vent her frustrations before changing topics. 

“But tell me, my dear, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“It’s about Miss Phryne,” Dot knew that would capture Aunt Prudence’s attention. 

“Oh, is she all right? I haven’t heard anything.”

“She’s fine, as far as I know,” Dot said. “But I’m worried about her making a very big mistake.”

“Well, that seems to be her modus operandi, as far as I’m concerned,” Aunt Prudence scoffed.

“It involves another person, someone who would be brokenhearted if she doesn’t fix things right away.” 

“That girl has left a trail of broken hearts from Collingwood to the Cotswolds and back again,” Aunt Prudence sighed. “What’s one more?”

“This isn’t just any heart,” Dot said. “It’s Inspector Robinson’s.”

“Oh,” Aunt Prudence said thoughtfully, then clucked her tongue. “The things she’s put that poor man through.”

“You see, Mrs. Stanley, the Inspector received a letter from Miss Phryne yesterday, but he didn’t seem very happy about it.”

“How do you know this?”

“Hugh - Constable Collins - told me the letter came to the police station, but the Inspector didn’t mention it at all at dinner last night,” Dot related, all of which was true, but Aunt Prudence didn’t need to know the details. 

“Why would he? Inspector Robinson is a very private man.”

“Exactly,” Dot said. “But if there had been news from Phryne he would have told us.”

“Mrs. Collins, I suppose you know the Inspector better than I do, but what makes you think my niece is making a mistake in regard to him?”

“Because he’s the only one whose heard from her in two months, and if that didn’t make the Inspector happy, then something is wrong.”

“Well, if she’s not interested in the Inspector then she must have her reasons. And why are you telling me this? This is not my business,” Aunt Prudence huffed.

“Well, I was hoping you might telegram Miss Phryne.” Dot tried to keep her voice steady; asking Aunt Prudence to interfere in Miss Phryne’s private life was fraught with peril. “So she can let the Inspector know she still loves him.”

“Heaven’s no!” Aunt Prudence replied. “She is a grown woman who needs to work these things out for herself. I’ve tried to introduce Phryne to eligible men, but she has never had any interest in settling down. Why should I play Cupid between her and Inspector Robinson?”

“Because a wise woman I know once said, ‘Omnia Vincit Amor’.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line and Dot waited patiently. 

“Are you sure they love each other?” Aunt Prudence finally said, a softer tone taking over her voice. 

“Very sure.”

“Have they declared this to each other?”

“I don’t know, but I think they are both too afraid to admit it out loud.”

“You leave it to me,” Aunt Prudence said, and Dot sighed with relief. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Stanley,” she said. “And if you need any help with that ball gown, I’d be happy to finish it up for you.”

“You know, that might just be the solution I was looking for, dear girl. I will call you if I need you.”

They said their goodbyes and Dot hung up the phone. She tried not to feel bad about sleuthing in the Inspector’s desk and baiting Aunt Prudence, but as she crossed herself she promised that if it didn’t work out for Miss Phryne and the Inspector, she’d take it to confession. 

+++

“Concetta?”

“Si!” Concetta called after Dot’s gentle knock, and when she opened the door Dot was standing there with a tea tray.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Si, that would be lovely,” Concetta said. Dot carried the tray over to the small writing desk near the window seat and poured two cups. 

“How are you doing?” Dot asked. “I know it must have been hard to hear that the Inspector had been hurt.” They took their cups and sat in the window seat together. 

“Si,” Concetta replied. “But Gianni will be alright, won’t he?”

“I believe so. Dr. MacMillan looked him over at the station and gave him some stitches, but he seemed to be fine. And the sandwiches seemed fortifying as well,” Dot smiled.

“Bello sentirlo,” Concetta breathed. “That’s good to hear,” she added for Dot’s benefit. 

“I hope you’re not feeling too cooped up here,” Dot commented, sipping her tea.

“It is fine,” Concetta smied. “Such a lovely place. But soon, I will be able to leave. I received a telegram from my relatives in Perth. They will be here in two weeks to escort me back there.”

“That’s wonderful,” Dot smiled. “Have you been there before?”

“No, but I hear it is nice. There aren’t as many Italian immigrants either.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dot said.

“That is a good thing,” Concetta assured her. “That means fewer Camorra, too.”

“Ah,” Dot nodded. “Well, in the meantime, maybe you can teach me how to make that tiramisu we had last night. Hugh loved it.”

“I would be happy to,” Concetta smiled. “And would you teach me something?”

“Of course,” Dot smiled back.

“Would you help me change my hairstyle? Maybe something that looks more like yours,” she said.

“I would love to,” Dot said. A few minutes later, Concetta was sitting at the vanity while Dot took down her hair and started brushing it. The last time someone else had brushed Concetta’s hair it was her mother, the morning she’d boarded the boat to sail to Melbourne. It was a bittersweet memory, but Dot’s motions were calming and comforting. 

“Concetta, you have such beautiful hair,” Dot said as she ran the brush and her fingers through it. “So many curls.”

“Grazie, but I think I’d like to part it here, on the side, instead of in the middle. And roll up the ends, like you do.”

“I think I can make that happen,” Dot said, making a new part with Concetta’s comb. 

“Since I am moving to a new city,” Concetta began, “there are things from my old life and the old country that I want to leave behind. Including this old fashioned hairstyle,” she added, fingering the tall, black-lacquered, wooden comb that she’d tucked into the back of her hair every day since her mother had passed it down to her. She would treasure it as a keepsake, but she would no longer wear it. It represented everything she was trying to get away from. 

After about thirty minutes, Dot had rearranged her hair into a modern style. “Grazie, Dorothy. Lo adoro. I love it,” Concetta beamed at her in the mirror. 

“I’ve never worked with such curly hair before, but it actually helps hold the style better.”

“I will try to remember that as a good thing the next time my hair gets frizzy in the summer,” Concetta said and they both laughed.

“You know...,” Dot began. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” A few minutes later, Dot came back with a Table Talk magazine. 

“Here, look at this.” Dot handed the magazine to Concetta, opened to an article. “This is Myrna Loy, she’s an American actress. She has very curly hair, but she has it cut short. I think you could pull this off.”

Concetta gazed at the image in the magazine, and then at herself in the mirror, then back at the magazine. She’d never had anything but long hair. Did she dare make such a drastic choice?

“There’s a French fashion designer named Coco Chanel,” Dot went on. “Miss Phryne met her in Paris once. She says that a woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.”

“May I keep this,” Concetta asked, patting the magazine. “For a few days?”

“Of course,” Dot said. “And if you want to know who cuts Miss Phryne’s hair, just say the word.”

“Grazie, Dorothy,” Concetta said. 

“You’re welcome. Now I have to go get ready for my weekly dose of guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Dinner at my mother’s,” Dot whispered conspiratorially. 

“Ah, si,” Concetta replied and they shared a knowing laugh. After Dot left, Concetta looked at the photograph again, how the woman’s hair was curly like hers, but looked bouncy and soft, and free. Yes, her life was about to change drastically. In fact, it already had. Tonight she would change her grandfather’s mind, and tomorrow she would change her hair.  
+++


	8. "You Can't Take That From Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concetta is a tough chick, but you knew that. Read on to see how that plays out.  
> FYI, there's a bit of E-rated stuff in this chapter, but not as extensive as CH4.  
> Glad you're still here, and hope you'll keep reading!  
> ++++

“Gianni!” 

Jack’s shoulders relaxed and contentment swelled in his chest at her greeting. Her welcoming cheek kisses warmed him from his face to his feet and he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her properly if Mr. Butler and the cabbies weren’t also standing right there. 

He did catch her eyes for a brief moment where a mixture of relief and anticipation mirrored his own feelings. She took his hat from his hand and he turned out of his coat, letting her fuss over him as she always did. It had been a long day and his head still hurt, but it was good to be fussed over.

“Come,” she bid him, picking up a pair of wine glasses in one hand and an already opened bottle of red wine in the other, and he followed her, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the cabbies. When they reached the parlor, she put the bottle and glasses down, then turned to him and wrapped her arms around him, murmuring something in Italian. “I was so worried about you, Gianni,” she whispered into his collar.

“I’m fine now,” he replied, holding her close, absorbing her tender energy. He released her slightly so he could look at her, then leaned in to kiss her gently. She sighed and her mouth relaxed against his, and his lips lingered on hers as the day fell away behind him. 

“Vino?” she asked when they finally parted and he felt himself smile. 

“Si,” he replied and she deftly poured and handed him a glass. 

“Sit,” she said and he took a seat on the couch, then she walked around behind him to look at his head. “Gianni, I am so sorry,” she said, patting his shoulder then coming back around to sit next to him. “It was a box of rocks and coal, si?”

“Si,” Jack nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Plus enough ashes and coal dust to choke the horses of the entire Australian Light Brigade.”

“That would be Emilio Russo,” Concetta said. “He is one of my grandfather’s thugs. He is called Il Roccia, The Rock.”

“How appropriate,” Jack smirked. 

“But, I have good news,” she smiled, and he looked up from his glass to see the cheerfulness of her expression, only to realize it probably meant sad news for him. “I received a telegram from my family in Perth. They will be here in two weeks to escort me back there.”

“That’s wonderful,” he forced a smile. 

“I will finally be free, Gianni,” she clasped his hand. He swigged down the last of his wine and set the glass on the table, then reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingers. 

“I’m very happy for you,” he said quietly, and he was. There was no point in dwelling on the emptiness of his future, or in mentioning it to her. It was time to let her be joyful and not ruin it with any of his own melancholy. 

She refilled his wine glass and topped off hers, and he tilted his head to regard her with curiosity. “Did you change your hair?” he asked.

“Si,” she smiled, touching it reflexively. “Do you like it? Dorothy did it for me. I wanted something new.”

“I do like it,” he nodded, and as she touched her hair a sparkle caught his eye. He took her right hand in his. “This is a beautiful ring, too,” he said, turning her hand to look at it closely.

“My Nonna Sophia’s,” she said, and told him how and why it came into her possession. “I decided to start wearing it because I can be free without selling it.”

“I hope you never have to sell it,” Jack replied, fully understanding the powerful symbolism.

Mr. Butler appeared in the parlor doorway to announce, “Dinner is served.” Jack offered Concetta his elbow to escort her to the dining room and pulled out her chair for her. Mr. Butler poured more wine and left to bring in the first course.

“This is just like we used to, si?” she said as they settled in. 

“Si,” Jack smiled and lifted his glass. “Salud?”

“Salud,” she smiled in return. 

“So are you ready to meet with your grandfather tonight?” he asked.

“Si,” she nodded seriously, and there was no fear or worry in her eyes.

“What will you say to him?”

“That if he lets me go, I will give him a gift.”

“And what kind of gift would that be,” Jack gave her a questioning glance. 

“My silence. Omerta,” she made an elegant slicing motion toward her neck with her hand.

“Concetta,” he said quietly and shook his head, a prickle of foreboding danced on the back of his neck. “That’s a dangerous game.”

“Like the game of passing me around from family to family just to increase his power and connections?” she said with disgust, then leaned back to let Mr. Butler set out the soup and some bread. They smiled and thanked him and he disappeared quickly. 

“He doesn’t care about me, Gianni,” she insisted. 

“He is still your grandfather,” Jack countered. “Are you sure he doesn’t love you?” He may have heard Papa Antonio say at one time “there’s more to life than love,” but that didn’t mean love didn’t have its place, especially in an Italian family. 

Concetta sighed. “He may, but he is more interested in gaining greater advantage over other families. He doesn’t even need me to marry Stefano; he can have another girl sent from the village. There are always more girls.” Concetta’s voice intensified and her eyes flickered with passion as she exposed the bigger picture to Jack. “Do you think the women don’t see things, don’t hear things? But they keep their silence to keep their safety. When Papa says I have a duty to ma famiglia, he’s not talking about waiting tables in the restaurant. Duty is omerta. And if he doesn’t let me go peacefully, then I have decided I will no longer be bound by omerta.”

“And what will that mean?”

“That I will tell you everything I know.” She asserted. 

“What do you mean, everything? What do you know?” Jack’s curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t help it, and his detective instincts could think of a dozen cases of various crimes involving the Camorra that his department was anxious to solve. 

“Shhh, Gianni,” she whispered and put a finger to her lips. “Omerta.” 

“Omerta,” he sighed and nodded. 

Mr. Butler appeared again with their main course, and Jack decided he might as well change the subject. 

“Did you see my note in the Henry Lawson book this morning?” he asked.

“Si!” she brightened. “I loved the poem. Reading it made me feel very Australian.”

“Lawson will do that,” Jack nodded and took a sip of wine. “I kept a small volume of his works in my pack during the war. I would read it to my unit during down time, and make them memorize it so they’d have it at the ready when they were homesick.” He hadn’t planned on dredging up that old memory, and over a dozen faces flashed in his mind - some good mates, some young privates under his command - who’s homesickness was never assuaged. 

“I don't understand how I can feel homesick for Australia just from reading this poetry,” Concetta said. “I don’t feel homesick for Italy.”

“The sign of a good poet, I suppose,” Jack said.

“Or the sign of a good country,” she countered. “And good people in that country,” she took his hand and squeezed it and smiled at him, and his ghosts faded back into his memory. 

“Have you been to Perth, Gianni?” she asked, pulling him further from the dark recesses of his thoughts, as she’d learned to do over the many months of them sharing a table together. 

“Only for a night. Our ship docked there on the way home from France to let the Western lads off. We got a drink in a pub, but that was it.”

“What is it like?”

“I’m sure it’s changed a lot since then, but I’ve heard the beaches are nice.”

“Will you take me to the beach, Gianni?” she asked, her eyes wide like a child’s? “Before I leave Melbourne? I have only been once the entire time I’ve lived here.”

“Then I suppose I must,” he smiled at her. 

Mr. Butler brought out dessert, lofty squares of pineapple upside-down cake with generous dollops of fresh whipped cream, and Jack silently counted his blessings that he was able to eat Mr. Butler’s cooking on a semi-regular basis.

He was just about to lift a big bite into his mouth when Concetta reached over and swiftly swiped a fingerful of whipped cream on his nose. 

“Gianni,” she tsk-tsked, licking the remnants off her finger. “You have whipped cream on your nose.”

“Do I?” he asked, setting down his fork and observing the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “What do you think I should do about it?”

“I think you should let me help you,” she said moving from her seat to his lap quickly and easily, an occurrence Jack was not opposed to. She draped one arm around his neck and placed the other hand on his cheek, and gently licked the cream off his nose. But while she was doing that, he dipped his finger into his own whipped cream and returned the favor. 

“Oh, look, now you have some, too,” he said. His finger also had remnants of cream on it and he touched it to her lips. She took his finger in her mouth and licked it clean and his groin twitched. He gently pulled her head toward him so he could lick her nose clean as well, then followed it up with a kiss. 

He reached over to his dessert again and plucked the maraschino cherry out of the center of the pineapple ring and held it up to her. She started to open her mouth, but he touched the cherry to her lip and slid it around, wiping the sticky sweetness across both her upper and lower lips. Then he leaned in and began licking and kissing the syrup off. A whimpering moan escaped from her throat and she clung to him. 

“Gianni,” she breathed when they came up for air. “Come upstairs, si?”

“But we have to be at the restaurant -” he began.

“In two hours,” she breathed. “And if something terrible happens tonight, Gianni, I want you one more time.” 

“Nothing terrible is going to happen,” he said.

“Probably not,” she replied. She reached for his hand that was still holding the cherry and lifted it to her lips, taking both the cherry and the ends of his fingers into her mouth, pulling the sticky fruit from between his thumb and forefinger with her tongue and slowly sucking off the syrup. Jack swallowed hard. Of course there was time. 

He nodded and she slid off his lap. He laced his fingers with hers and led her up the front stairs to her room. As soon as the door was shut and locked he pulled her tight against him and kissed her deeply, traces of cherry syrup lingering, enticing. His arousal grew quickly and he pressed it against her middle. 

“Cara mia,” he breathed against her skin as his lips trailed down the edge of her neckline.

“Gianni,” she whispered and tangled her fingers into his hair. 

A few moments later they were out of their clothes and pressed tightly against each other as the last golden rays of a beautiful Melbourne sunset reached through the gaps in the curtains and played over their naked skin. She reached down and took him in her hand, her fingers curling around him, exploring his length and skimming over the end. He cupped her breast, swirling his thumb over the nipple as it hardened with his touch. 

She reached up on tiptoes to kiss him, then gently angled his erection down to the apex of her thighs and tucked in between her legs. She was hot and wet and Jack’s groin ached. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth with purpose and her fingers danced over his arse. 

“Gianni,” she gulped. “I want you so much.”

He moved them toward the bed, reached down to throw back the covers, then pulled her down on top of him. Their mouths sparred hungrily and his hands moved all over her until he was gripping her backside and positioning her over him, sliding his hardness up and down inside her wet folds. 

“If you want me, take me,” he rasped as his cock twitched against her, finding her opening, waiting for her. Slowly she moved her hips backward, downward, pushing herself onto him, filling herself with him, a gasp of pleasure on her lips. 

“Uuuhhhh…,” he groaned, the blood thrumming through his body, hardening him further, and throbbing against his stitches. This was definitely not desk duty. Concetta began to pulse up and down, and he matched her stroke for stroke. His hands reached for her breasts, and he fondled her nipples and watched her beautiful face react to every thrust, every touch. 

“Mio Dio, Gianni,” she exclaimed as she pulsed faster, reaching between them to touch herself as he’d shown her last night. Watching her was pushing him toward the edge. He held her hips still while he drove into her faster and harder, and her fingers moved in busy circles, until her muscles spasmed around him and she cried out again. One more deep thrust and he was hurtling over the edge with her, waves of release crashing all around him, combined with a serious spinning sensation for which he was all too glad to be lying down. 

“Gianni,” she panted, now lying on his chest, her breath huffing across his skin. 

“Cara mia,” he breathed, stroking her hip as his sated and softened cock slipped out of her. “What time is it?” he asked after his heart rate had slowed and the pounding and dizziness subsided. 

She reached for his watch on the nightstand and squinted at it. “Seven forty-five.”

“Give me thirty minutes to sleep,” he said, rolling her off him, drowsiness filling his head like wet wool. 

“Si, Gianni,” she said. Her gentle kiss on his cheek was the last thing he remembered before he was well and truly out. 

+++

Mr. Butler didn’t hear them leave the dining room, but the state of their desserts bore witness to their hasty retreat. He shrugged and smiled and cleared the table. 

“Didn’t the Inspector and Miss Strano like your pineapple upside down cake, Mr. B?” Bert asked, incredulous.

“I’m sure they would have loved it if they’d not found a different kind of dessert to be more appealing,” Mr. Butler replied. 

“The Inspector and Miss Strano?” Cec said, wide-eyed and curious, sharing a wink and a nudge with Bert. 

“Apparently so, Cec.”

“Hey Bert, maybe now you’ll have your chance with Miss Fisher,” Cec teased his friend. 

“I have a strict rule about not fraternizing with the boss,” Bert declared. “In the meantime,” he continued, sliding one of the abandoned desserts toward him and one toward Cec, “I’m sure the Inspector and Miss Strano wouldn’t want their cake to go to waste.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t,” Mr. Butler agreed and the three of them continued their conversation about the races at Flemington. 

+++

“Are you ready?” Jack asked when they pulled up in front of Strano’s about fifteen minutes after nine o’clock. 

“I am ready,” Concetta said. 

“Looks like they’re ready for you, that’s for sure,” Bert said from the front seat. “I’ve never seen this many Italian thugs in one place outside the docks.” The Padrino had stationed about a dozen of his foot soldiers around the entrance, along the front piazza, the stairs and the driveway.

“And there will be more inside,” Jack commented. “But you two know your job,” he said. “Drive out and signal Inspector Flynn, then you’re free to go.”

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Bert said warily. 

“There are twenty of Melbourne’s finest officers behind us, Bert,” Jack insisted, hoping the seriousness of his voice would give his words the weight they needed. “We don’t need any civilian injuries, or worse.”

“The Inspector’s right, Bert,” Cec said. “Miss Fisher would never forgive you if you got yourself killed by the Camorra.”

Bert grumbled but sighed heavily. “Good luck, Inspector, Miss.”

“Thanks, Bert,” Jack said and got out of the car. He walked around to let Concetta out, and when she stepped out of the vehicle, Jack saw one of the men duck inside, certainly to alert the Padrino. Jack also saw the curious and surprised looks on the guards’ faces when the cab drove away. 

“Not expecting to need a ride home, Inspector?” one of the men said, stepping in front of them as they ascended the stairs. 

“I’ve made other arrangements,” Jack said with indifference.

“Inspector Robinson, this is Emilio Russo, Il Roccia,” Concetta introduced.

“Did you like the little present I left at your home, Inspector?” For a large, heavily built man, his voice was thready and smarmy and Jack narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t move or reply. The hum of engines and the crunch of gravel on the drive behind him made the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

Six police cars pulled up into the driveway and twenty police officers stepped out of them. Each officer stood next to the cars, displaying the various revolvers and rifles they were carrying in holsters or slung over shoulders, but their hands were pointedly empty. 

“Inspector Flynn,” Jack called over his shoulder, and Flynn hustled over to stand next to Jack. “This is Mr. Emilio Russo. He’s just admitted to booby trapping my home. Please arrest Mr. Russo for Breaking and Entering, Assault of a Police Officer, Setting a Booby Trap, and any other appropriate charges.”

“Gladly,” Flynn said with a smug grin. He grabbed the surprised Russo by the wrist, spun him around and clapped the cuffs on him, then stuffed him into the back of a police car. The other Italian thugs along the drive and patio reached for their weapons hidden under their coats, but Jack held up his hand. 

“There’s no need for that, gentlemen,” he said. “As you can see, you’re outnumbered.”

“Well, well,” said Stefano Bianchi as he strolled out of the restaurant. “So, la puttana has returned to beg her Papa’s forgiveness, eh?” 

Concetta spat at his feet and cursed at him in Italian, no translation required.

“Let’s go inside before we start a war,” Jack suggested, startled but impressed by Concetta’s fiery response. “Inspector Flynn and Constable Hartford,” Jack called over his shoulder again. “Come with us.”

Stefano glowered at them and he and another thug stepped in front of the party of four. 

“Step aside,” Jack said, low and dangerous, glaring hard into Stefano’s eyes. Finally, the Italian relented and stood aside to let them pass and enter the building, but he followed them. Four more Camorra foot soldiers stood inside, two at the door and two flanking the Padrino who was sitting at his favorite table in the corner farthest from the entrance. 

“Ah, Concetta,” the Padrino said expansively, standing and opening his arms as if expecting a warm greeting. “And Inspector Jack. Come, sit. Have a coffee and a cannoli.”

“We’re not here to eat, Papa,” Concetta said evenly but seriously. 

“Concetta, where are your suitcases? Your room is just the way you left it. We’ve missed you here, your customers miss you.” Antonio’s words were pleasant enough, but the hard glint in his eye and the threatening undertone in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by Jack, or Concetta. 

“Papa we need to talk. Alone.” She glared at the two thugs who stood on either side of her grandfather. Her voice was calm and she lifted her chin in an attitude of defiance, but Jack could feel the nervous energy vibrating off her. 

“Anything you can say to me you can say to my friends here, eh?” Antonio replied. 

“Then I have nothing to say,” she said. “Come, Gianni, let’s go.” She started to turn around but the unmistakable clicks of guns being cocked inside the jackets of the Camorra thugs made her catch her breath. Jack placed a comforting hand on her back as two more clicks from Flynn and Hartford responded. 

“Is this your plan, Antonio?” Jack asked. “To kill your granddaughter and three police officers? Simply to satisfy your desire to control everything and everyone?”

“Jack, you don’t understand these things,” Antonio said condescendingly.

“I understand men like you,” Jack replied with measured disdain. “Morally weak men in positions of power who use physical threats to control those around them, even if those they love and care about get hurt or killed.” Antonio glared at him, but Jack glared right back. He could do this all night if he needed to - Antonio was nothing compared to the German Army. 

Finally, Antonio relened, his shoulders relaxed and he glanced down. 

“I just want to talk, Papa,” Concetta said. 

“You should listen to what she has to say, Antonio. She has an offer that you probably shouldn’t refuse.”

“Eh, all right, all right,” Antonio said, pulling out a chair for Concetta. “Come, sit.”

“Alone, Papa,” she reiterated, not moving. Jack couldn’t have been prouder of her. 

Antonio waved to his bodyguards and they moved out from behind the table, but still stood nearby.

“Leave us,” Concetta glared at the two men, frustration simmering in her tone. 

“Come on, boys,” Jack said, walking toward the men, and Flynn and Hartford took a few steps in their direction as well. “Let’s let these two have some privacy. We can all wait by the door, alright?” The thugs looked at Antonio who nodded, and the men moved toward the door. 

“How are things outside?” Jack whispered to Flynn as they walked across the restaurant.

“Dead calm,” Flynn said. “A silent standoff.”

“Perfect.” Jack took a position on one side of the entry with Flynn and Hartford, and the four Camorra thugs stood opposite. He watched as Concetta sat close to Antonio, just grandfather and granddaughter sharing a quiet, but emotional moment. He didn’t need to hear what they were saying, their gentle touches and wiping of tears spoke volumes. 

+++


	9. "I Know the Warmth She Gives"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was someone looking for Phryne?  
> Or maybe a little more angst for Jack?  
> Grab a tissue just in case.  
> +++

Jack parked the police car in front of Wardlow and unlocked the front door with a key he’d been given a long time ago. There was no longer any need for subterfuge. It was late, almost midnight, when they returned, and the house was dark and quiet. He locked it back up and followed Concetta up to her room. 

“You were very brave tonight,” he said to her after they’d removed their coats and hats. There hadn’t been time to tell her anything after they’d left Strano’s. Papa Antonio had accepted her terms and wished her well on her journey. The old man had looked deflated, but happy for his granddaughter and had kissed her goodbye with a smile. He’d even promised to have his head injury examined by a doctor. In the back of the police car on the return trip to the station, she had cried quietly into Jack’s handkerchief, tears of loss and relief. He’d simply held her, deciding to wait until they were alone before sharing his thoughts. 

“I was so scared, Gianni,” she replied, letting his arms enfold her. 

“You did everything perfectly,” he said, tipping her chin up with his knuckles. “I was very proud of you.”

“When I saw how calm you were with Emilio and Stefano and my grandfather, I knew I could be, too,” she said. “How do you say it? We make a good team, si?”

“Si,” he smiled, yet his mind conjured up an image of someone else who had once claimed she was “on his team” but who was now twelve-thousand miles away. He wanted none of those memories tonight, however, and closed his eyes and kissed Concetta. The lingering adrenaline in his system needed an outlet, and his mind needed a distraction. She returned his kiss with equal intensity, and Jack started reaching for the hem of her dress while her fingers worked the knot in his tie and the buttons at his collar.

He pushed her back against the nearest wall and she gasped. It was not a gasp of pleasure, however, but of unpleasant surprise. He looked at her face, her eyes shot wide; it was a look of fear.

“Concetta,” he said, pulling her away from the wall and holding her gently as she caught her breath against his chest. “What is it?” he asked, his heart stricken with concern.

“Not the wall, Gianni,” she said in a ragged whisper. “Never the wall.” 

“I’m so sorry, cara mia,” he soothed and led her to the bed to sit down. “Perdonami, per favore.”

“It’s all right,” she said, leaning into him. “I am fine.” Clearly she wasn’t, and he just held her tenderly for a few moments. 

“What is it?” he asked again, softly, gently.

“Fabrizi,” she hissed the man’s name like a curse, and Jack’s blood started to boil. “He used to do that to me all the time,” she continued, her voice small and tight. “Even in the kitchen when no one else was around. And it hurt so much.” 

“Ah, cara mia,” he soothed, holding her close. “I never want to hurt you.”

“I know, grazie,” she sighed.

“Do you still want me to stay? Because I can go home if you’re uncomfortable,” he offered.

“Si, stay,” she said, looking up at him. “Talking to Papa tonight made it real: I am leaving Melbourne. I want to be with you as much as I can before I go.”

“I want the same,” Jack replied. This time, he kissed her gently and she sighed contentedly as she melted into him. 

“Will you just hold me tonight, Gianni?” she asked, and he was humbled by the trust in her eyes.

“Si,” he nodded. So while Concetta changed into her nightgown and took down her hair, Jack undressed to his underwear and hung his suit on the back of the chair. They snuggled into bed together and Jack curled his arm around her and pulled her close. He kissed her cheek and neck and she murmured softly in Italian and sleep soon claimed them both.

In the hazy purple hour before dawn, Jack awoke to use the bathroom. When he returned to the bed for just a little more sleep, Concetta rolled dreamily into his arms. She’d removed her nightgown and was pressing herself against him. “Buongiorno, Gianni,” she whispered. 

“Boungiorno,” he replied, sliding his hands along her body. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his shorts and she reached for him. He made slow and deliberate love to her, treating every inch of her with the respect she deserved, and when they were through he held her close again, her body as precious as her soul. 

“I have to go,” he whispered when the small alarm clock he’d set the night before rang at six-thirty. 

“I know,” she replied and he rose and dressed and kissed her again before collecting his hat and coat and heading downstairs. Another bowl of oatmeal and cup of tea awaited him in the kitchen, as if he’d been doing this for years, and he was able to exit the house through the front door and drive away in his own police car. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d at one time hoped this day would come, but with an entirely different drowsy lover falling back to sleep in his wake. 

+++

The next two weeks were a blur for Jack and Concetta, filled with long evening walks, a day at the beach, a few sun-dappled picnics, and many hours of private discovery. Jack called Hilda Cobb at The Grand Hotel the morning after their visit to Strano’s and set Concetta up there. With her restaurant experience, Hilda hired her to work the dining room and tend bar which covered the cost of a nice room on an upper floor. The hotel was much closer to his home, and he spent every night with Concetta. 

Jack also called a detective he knew in Perth to do a little investigating of the family that Concetta would be living with, with her permission of course, and he was pleased to discover that they showed no signs of being connected to the Camorra. They were both very pleased about that, and Jack felt better knowing she would be well cared for there. 

Two days after she’d left Wardlow, she greeted him at the bottom of the stairs at The Grand in a pretty new dress and a head full of curls. She’d gone ahead and cut her hair like she’d talked about, and it bounced gently around her head and along her jawline, looking very modern and accentuating her long lovely neck. She’d always been beautiful in his eyes, but there was a lively spirit about her now, like the young girl she must have been before being sent to Australia. Their ten-year age difference was more apparent, but certainly not troublesome for either of them. Other men flirted with her when she tended bar, and he enjoyed watching her from across the room with his glass of whiskey, but at night it was with him she laughed and loved and slept. 

In those quiet hours together, they talked about everything, and nothing, the news and the weather, and scraps of personal information. “Was there ever anyone else for you, Gianni? Before Rosie?” she asked him one night as they were lying in bed, naked, loose-limbed and sated.

“Lily,” Jack said. He hadn’t thought of her in twenty years. “She used to come into my father’s tailor shop with her father. She was smart and curious, and we were both seventeen. She was from a wealthy family so we had to meet in secret, but for a few weeks that summer we,” he paused as the memories floated to the surface. “We learned a lot,” he said. “Then her family moved to America and I never saw her again. What about you?”

“There was a boy in the village,” she smiled and drew lazy circles on his chest with her fingers. “Lorenzo. He was a little older than me, and he was a distant cousin. He only kissed me, though. Our families thought we were a good match and I used to dream of marrying him. Then my father got a telegram from Papa Antonio and a few weeks later I was on my way here.”

“You should see if he’s still available,” Jack said lightly. 

“Gianni,” she scolded but smiled at him and he chuckled. “He’s probably married now and forgotten all about me,” she added with a sigh and a pretty pout. 

“I’m sure you’ll meet someone in Perth who is worthy of you,” he said, looking into her eyes and hoping it would be true. He swallowed his sadness and pulled her close, the ache building in his heart again. It was starting to feel all too similar to the ache that had begun one morning at an airfield two months ago, but had seemed to dissipate in the last two weeks. 

Was he falling in love with Concetta? Another few weeks with her and he was sure he would be enamored enough to make their romance permanent, but, like every other woman he’d loved, she was leaving him. Lily, Rosie, Phryne, and now Concetta. It was just as well; his heart couldn’t take any more loss. He would send Concetta on her way with all his best wishes, before he complicated things by allowing her to assuage the ache Phryne had left behind, as if that were even possible.

He still thought about Phryne of course, still missed her everyday, still tried to read her letter with some sort of thrill or excitement, but the pages no longer smelled of her perfume and there only seemed to be a large stone wall between his heart and hers. And as easy and as comfortable as it could have been with Concetta, maybe it was too easy, too comfortable. She didn’t challenge him, push him, or infuriate him, and he’d discovered he loved those things. Phryne had ruined him for every other woman, and that infuriated him even more. 

He had pondered the “what ifs” a few times, turning things over and over in his mind. What if he’d taken Concetta up on her offer after Salvatore was arrested? By then he’d been too tangled up with Phryne and Concetta had known it. But what if she had made her offer earlier, maybe right after his divorce? What if he’d noticed her interest in him sooner and asked her himself? But as a police officer there was no way he could allow himself to be compromised by marrying into an Italian crime family. It was bad enough he spent as much time at Strano’s as he had. If Headquarters had known about his penchant for pasta a la Camorra, he would have been whisked into the Office of the Assistant Commissioner for Internal Affairs faster than he could say his own name. 

It was the story of his life, it seemed: When it came to women, his timing was abysmal. Concetta’s relatives were arriving tomorrow afternoon and taking her back with them two days later. He would make the most of the time they had left.

+++

“So has the Inspector said anything to you about what his plans are?” Dot asked Hugh as they sat in the parlor one evening. 

“What plans?” Hugh replied, looking up from the latest footy news with confusion.

“Well, Miss Strano is leaving in a few days and I thought maybe he might have put in for a transfer to Perth,” she said matter-of-factly without looking up from her knitting. 

“Dottie, the Inspector isn’t going anywhere,” Hugh insisted. He’d come to terms with what appeared to be - if not a dalliance - certainly a short-term romance between his boss and Miss Strano, mostly because the Inspector seemed calm, focused and even-tempered since the night of the standoff at the restaurant, and that was a good thing for everyone at City South. “I think he would have told me by now if he was considering it.”

“Any more letters or telegrams from Miss Fisher?” Dot asked, relieved that the Inspector didn’t appear to be planning to follow Miss Strano clear across the country. And not just for Miss Fisher’s sake; they would all have missed him.

“Dottie, why do you keep asking me every other day?” Hugh said, and Dot thought he was picking up his boss’s tendency toward exasperation, along with many of the Inspector’s finer qualities. 

“Because I’m waiting on God to answer my prayers. How else am I supposed to know how He’s working things out if you don’t tell me?”

“Dottie, it’s a police station, not a tea party,” Hugh stated. “We’re too busy catching criminals to engage in idle gossip.”

“Rubbish, Hugh Collins,” Dot was exasperated herself now. “I’ve been in that station when you were all talking about the personal lives of the entire Abbotsford football club.”

“That’s sports, Dot,” Hugh said, as if that made all the difference in the world. “We don’t talk about our own personal lives, and especially not the Inspector’s, if we want to keep our jobs.”

Dot didn’t reply right away but went back to her knitting with a small smile. “Rubbish, Hugh Collins,” she said softly and glanced at him sideways.

Hugh closed the paper and sighed. “Dot, I know you’re curious, but I’ve told you all I know. No, the Inspector hasn’t said anything about transferring to Perth, and no, he hasn’t received any more mail from Miss Fisher at the station since that letter two weeks ago.”

“Thank you for the information, Hugh,” she said evenly. She would have to be content with that until there was more evidence, and she did feel bad for the Inspector. It was also curious that she hadn’t heard back from Mrs. Stanley about her ball gown, but she knew she couldn’t use that as an excuse to bring up the subject of Miss Fisher again, so she would just have to wait and pray. She would be back at church tomorrow to pick up more mending and would light another prayer candle while she was there. It was the best she could do for now.

+++

Prudence Stanley was a woman with connections, and she wielded those connections like an artist wielded brushes and paints. Access, influence, and thousands of pounds in donations dripped from her brush onto canvases from Stonington House* to the House of Lords. When Prudence Stanley made a request of her many connections, she expected a satisfactory response.

That was why, when she marched into the telegraph office for the fourth time in two weeks, she was getting tired of it. After three telegram exchanges with friends in London, this time she was going to use the telephone - the matter required more discussion and nuance than a telegram could provide. And as soon as an international exchange was available for private residences, she was going to pay whatever it cost to have her line connected. She was getting too old for all this traipsing around town.

“I would like to make a call to London, please, Mr. Green,” she stated to the man behind the counter.

“Of course, Mrs. Stanley,” Mr. Green bowed slightly and smiled. “Do you have the exchange?”

“No, but I have the address,” she said and handed the man a piece of paper. 

“Come right this way,” he said. “You’ll have a little more privacy back here.” Mr. Green showed her to a corner of the telegraph office where there was a small alcove with a padded wooden chair next to a telephone. He dialed up the London Exchange and made sure the line was connected before turning over the handset to Prudence and walking away.

“Hello, to whom am I speaking?” she asked.

“This is Smythe, the butler, madam.” The connection wasn’t the best, the line sizzled with intermittent static and there was a delay, but it would have to do.

“Very well, this is Prudence Stanley and I would like to speak to my niece, Miss Phryne Fisher.”

“One moment, please madam.”

“Aunt Prudence?” Phryne’s voice came on the line a moment later, sweet and curious. “What a surprise!”

“You can be sure this is just as surprising for me, my dear,” Prudence declared.

“How are you? I hope you’re not calling with bad news,” Phryne said.

“I am fine and everyone here is in good health. But that is not why I’m calling.”

“Do tell, Aunt P,” Phryne said. 

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, my dear,” Prudence began and took a steadying breath before she spoke again. “Do you love Inspector Robinson?”

“Well, yes, of course I love Jack,” Phryne replied, startled into responding in the affirmative by her Aunt’s surprising question. 

“Very good,” Prudence said. “Does he know this?”

“I - I haven’t told him directly, no,” she replied.

“Then you’d better find a way to do so quickly, or you might do irreparable damage, to his heart and yours.”

“Aunt P, what do you mean?”

“Did you mention the Earl of Aylesford to him in any correspondence?”

“I did, but - oh no,” Phryne’s tone changed quickly from confusion to realization, and Prudence silently thanked her connections for accurate information. “Aunt P, you don’t think he misunderstood?”

“I have no idea, but your Inspector takes things very seriously and it’s very possible he did misunderstand, whatever it was you said in your letter.”

“Oh, Jack,” Phryne’s voice sounded far away and Prudence was confident she’d made her point, now she had to drive it home. 

“Phryne, if you love him, if you really love him, don’t leave him to wonder. A man makes intemperate and ill-advised decisions when he is unsure of the affections of the woman he loves.”

“Aunt P, what are you saying?”

Prudence softened her tone for her final piece of advice. “What I’m saying is that Omnia Vincit Amor may be true, but it doesn’t happen by magic. You have to do the work.”

“Thank you, Aunt P,” Phryne said, a steadfastness returning to her tone. “I will take it from here.”

“I have every confidence that you will, my dear girl,” Prudence said. They bade each other goodbye and Prudence hung up and went back to the front counter.

“That was five minutes, Mrs. Stanley,” Mr. Green said. “That will be five pounds.”

“Five pounds,” Prudence huffed at the expense, but handed the five pound note to Mr. Green. “I’ll just deduct it from their wedding gift, then,” she declared and marched out of the telegraph office the same way she came in. 

She sighed as her driver turned toward home, confident that she had done the right thing. Still, there was one more good deed to be done in this affair, and if what Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates had said was true, then she hoped it wouldn’t be too late. 

++++

Jack held Concetta’s hand as they stood on the platform at Flinders Street Station waiting for the train. It was as much a safety precaution as a romantic gesture - Concetta was standing on her tip-toes trying to look up the track over the heads of the bobbing crowd, and Jack was concerned someone might carelessly bump into her and knock her down. Her excitement had been bubbling since they’d woken up that morning. The train wasn’t expected until two o’clock, and Jack had finally convinced her that being there at eight am wasn’t going to make the train arrive any earlier, so they had gone over at one pm. It was still too early, but at least he could get away from his current pile of paperwork and spend a few more moments with her.

“Look!” she said, pointing down the track. “There it is, Gianni!” And sure enough, the train was rounding the bend at Spencer Street with the engineer laying hard on the whistle. The crowd began to congeal and push, anxious to meet friends and family, or to find a good seat themselves. Jack planted his feet in a firm stance against the flowing crowd, then slipped his arm around Concetta’s waist and hugged her to him backwards so they could both look down the platform for Franco and Maria Agosti. Maria had telegraphed to say she would be wearing a red hat with purple and white feathers.

“There! There she is! Signora Agosti!” Concetta said, pushing against Jack’s arm, but he held her fast. 

“The crowd is too dense over there,” he said close to her ear so she could hear him above the din on the platform. “Wait until they get closer.” She nodded, but bounced nervously on her toes, her excitement was contagious and he smiled and stole a kiss behind her ear, his nose buried in her lilac-scented curls. Then just like that, she went still as a stone. 

“What is it?” Jack asked, looking up sharply, his instincts never far from the surface.

“Lorenzo,” she breathed. Jack scanned the crowd for the Agostis, and picked out Maria’s hat quickly. Walking next to her and Franco was a tall, handsome man in a finely tailored, double-breasted suit. Jack swallowed hard and loosened his hold on Concetta. She waited for an opening, then darted into the crowd toward the trio. Jack followed, keeping his eye on her and arriving just a few steps behind.

The three had stopped walking and Concetta was exchanging greetings in Italian and cheek-to-cheek air kisses with the Agostis. When she turned to Lorenzo, she stood still, eyes wide, a soft smile on her lips. 

“Ciao, Concetta,” Lorenzo said, taking her gloved hand and dropping a kiss on the back of it. His voice was mostly steady, but a slight tremor gave away his emotions.

“Lorenzo,” she said. “Is it really you?”

“Si, bella,” he replied, looking into her eyes, but not letting go of her hand. Their gaze held fast for a few more seconds until a harried passenger bumped into Lorenzo and broke the spell. 

“Oh, perdoname,” Concetta said, blushing and touching her hair nervously. “Where are my manners? Gianni,” she said looking at him. Jack smiled and sidled closer. “Gianni, this is Franco and Maria Agosti; and this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“Ciao, Inspector,” the Agostis greeted him warmly and Maria pressed kisses to his cheeks. “Grazie for taking care of Concetta.” 

“It’s been my pleasure, Signora Agosti,” Jack replied, returning Maria’s hand squeeze. 

“Lorenzo D’Angelo,” Concetta continued, “Inspector Robinson.”

“Ciao, Inspector,” Lorenzo offered his hand and Jack shook it. “Pleased to meet you, signor.”

“Likewise, Mr. D’Angelo,” Jack replied, giving the younger man a long look in the eyes. Lorenzo seemed to sense the challenge and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. Jack would be sure to call his counterparts in Perth for background on Mr. D’Angelo, as well. 

Concetta seemed to collect herself and began ushering the new arrivals to the terminal to pick up their bags, and Jack was happy to get off the busy, jostling platform. Concetta took Lorenzo’s arm and Jack took up the rear with the Agostis between them, and as they walked Jack pondered how quickly life could change, and not for the first time. From the battlefield to the homefront, from a crime scene to an airfield, from the police station to a train station, change was inevitable, but often unexpected.

Seeing the way Concetta and Lorenzo had looked at each other told Jack that last night had been his last with Concetta. This time, he was expecting her to go, but not quite so quickly. If he had known last night, he would have said more, or maybe less, but he would have certainly tried to make it special. Not that it wasn’t special just being with her, but more special, or meaningful, somehow. Now, just like that, his time with Concetta was through and he would have to start building the walls around his heart again. 

While the newcomers waited with Concetta for their bags to be removed from the train, Jack called Bert and Cec to provide more space for people and luggage. Within about thirty minutes they were all on their way to the Windsor, where three rooms awaited the travelers. Jack was impressed, as the background check didn’t indicate the Agostis were well-to-do. 

“Oh, Lorenzo, e bellissimo!” Signora Agosti declared as they followed the bellhop with the luggage cart into their suite. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Lorenzo replied, and Jack’s ears perked up, adding another fact to his mental file on D’Angelo. “It was the least I could do. And Concetta, you will have your own room as well, two doors down. You can bring your things over here later.”

“Grazie,” she said, glancing sideways at Jack, who noticed the pink in her cheeks that arose when she was feeling awkward. But Jack’s emotions could no longer go there, so he glanced away. 

“Shall I make reservations for us for dinner downstairs?” Lorenzo asked. “You will join us, Inspector, si?”

“I have already made arrangements,” Concetta said, before Jack could demur. “My friends want to meet you all and say goodbye,” she added, then looked at Jack. “At Wardlow, Gianni,” she clarified, and Jack nodded. Of course. 

“I suppose I should be going now,” Jack said, beginning to feel a bit awkward himself. “Signor and Signora Agosti, Mr. D’Angelo, Miss Strano,” Jack acknowledged with a dip of his head. “I’ll see you all this evening at dinner.” He turned toward the door before his eyes gave him away.

“Scusi, Scusi,” he heard Concetta saying to the Agostis as he left the room, but he kept moving. She caught up to him in the hall, her hand on his arm and stepping in front of him. 

“Gianni, I’m sorry,” she said softly, placing a palm against his cheek. 

“For what, Concetta?” 

“I didn’t know Lorenzo was coming or that they would have a room here for me,” she said with hushed frustration. “I thought I would have more time with you, Gianni.” 

Jack’s heart squeezed but he schooled his expression. “You still love him, don’t you,” he said with a sad smile.

“Si,” she sighed. “I didn’t know it until I saw him again. My heart, it feels like it will burst. I don’t understand.” The shakiness in her voice was leading up to tears, and he touched her cheek in return. 

“A brave and beautiful girl once told me that the next time she married, it would be for love,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“Gianni,” she breathed, and Jack knew that was what he would miss the most: the soft whoosh of his name on her lips and every image and memory it conjured. 

“Cara mia,” he whispered one last time. He closed his eyes as tears gathered in his lashes before spilling over. She pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheeks, collecting his tears, then touching her lips to his for a soft, final kiss. Now he knew what it was like to kiss someone whose heart was taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Stonington House was the residence of the Governor of Victoria in those days.


	10. "The Truth is Never Far Behind"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get fluffy around here....   
> +++

Jack asked Concetta to say his goodbyes to the Agostis, that he had to return to the station and would see them all at dinner. The first thing he did when he sat down at his desk was pick up the phone and call the detective in Perth who had done the background check on the Agostis to also give Lorenzo D’Angelo the same treatment.

“Lorenzo D’Angelo?” the other detective asked. “Tall, good-looking, nice suit?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“He’s only the Fizzy Drink King of Western Australia,” the detective replied. “Owns Yorkie’s Fizzies and Cordials.” 

“Does he have a record?” Jack asked.

“Nah, mate, he’s clean as a whistle.”

“You’re sure,” Jack said. “No criminal associations?”

“Look Robinson, he’s clean. Not even a parking ticket. I know this because we’ve had problems here with some Italians on the docks and so we discretely looked into all the Italian business owners in the city. D’Angelo is clean, so clean in fact, that the real Camorra won’t do business with him. If an Italian owns a restaurant or soda counter, you won’t find ‘em sellin’ any Yorkie’s. He’s at church three times a week, gives money to the poor, and serves on three charity boards. How many Camorra do you know who do that?”

“How long has he been in Perth?” Jack asked, thinking the younger man was rather well-connected if he came to Australia after Concetta did.

“Almost five years, but he already had a little money. Cops in Italy say he inherited it, then left the country instead of joining the Camorra. Yorkie’s was struggling, and D’Angelo struck a bargain for the business and turned it around. He’s good people, Robinson. Why are you interested in him? Is he related to that girl you’re trying to help, too?”

“Not yet,” Jack said. He thanked the other detective and hung up. He appreciated the information from the WA detective, but would take his own measure of the man at dinner that night. 

Dinner was a joyful occasion, with much laughter, good food, and great wine - the kind of party that Phryne would really love, Jack thought. After dinner, jazz music played on the Victrola, and the alcohol flowed freely. Jack spent most of his time talking to Mac about various cases and mysteries of the morgue, while watching Concetta enjoy herself from behind his oft-refilled drink. 

At one point, Lorenzo excused himself to go to the restroom, and Jack took up a position at the parlor door in order to catch him on the way back. 

“Mr. D’Angelo, may I have a word?” Jack asked, meeting the man in the foyer. 

“Of course, Inspector,” and they both stepped into the dining room. “What can I do for you?”

“Before today, had you had any contact with Concetta since she left Italy?”

“No,” Lorenzo said. “They wouldn’t tell me where she was, so I couldn’t write to her. Then my father died and the Camorra came calling. They wanted me to take my father’s place, but I chose to leave Italy instead. Concetta didn’t know until today that I was even in Australia. She told me that she didn’t write to me because she didn’t want me to come looking for her and possibly be killed by her grandfather. I want nothing to do with the Camorra, and I certainly don’t want to be killed by them.”

“So you don’t really have any idea of what she’s been through for almost six years here,” Jack said.

“No, but, we all knew that her husband, Fabrizi, was in the Camorra and I heard that he’d been killed last year by another family. I can only imagine Concetta is still dealing with her widowhood.”

“Being a widow is the least of it, Lorenzo,” Jack said, his voice darkening. “Fabrizi was a thug and a bully, as is her grandfather, and not just toward other Camorra thugs.” He paused, letting Lorenzo ponder the implication. “You would be wise to treat Concetta with every ounce of kindness and respect you can muster.”

Lorenzo nodded, then looked Jack in the eye. “Are you in love with her, too?” he challenged. 

“No,” Jack replied, swallowing his emotions. “But I care about her and I’ve seen her survive things that would easily break other people. She stood up to the Padrino on her own and secured her release from his grip, and it cost her dearly. She is special, Mr. D’Angelo, and I’m entrusting her to you.”

“You are a man of honor, Inspector Robinson, as am I. I never expected to see Concetta again, once she was sold off to the Camorra, but when the Agostis told me they were traveling to Melbourne to collect her, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to come along. Do you think I’m going to let my second chance slip away?”

“Second chances in love are rare,” Jack acknowledged, his chest tightening. “Use it wisely.”

“I intend to,” Lorenzo promised. 

+++

Jack sat at his desk nursing a slight hangover, sifting through the overnight paperwork and signing off on all the little things that had been piling up for the last few days. Vacation requests, office supplies, repair requisitions - things he could accomplish without thinking too hard. 

He’d slept in his own bed the night before, the first time in over two weeks. It was lonely, but he was used to that. His front door was finally fixed and no one would ever know by looking that his little sanctuary had been breached by Camorra thugs, not that he’d ever forget. His wound had healed and his stitches had been removed and he was combing his hair over the scar now. All of these things were small reminders of the golden days he’d spent with Concetta. 

Today he was working in the office while Concetta and Signora Agosti were out shopping, and he’d been invited to dinner at the hotel with them that evening. Of course he would join them, and of course he would see them off at the station tomorrow as well. The denouement would be mostly for Concetta’s benefit; he wanted her to have pleasant memories of their parting. 

The phone rang and Markham answered it, then transferred it to Jack’s desk. “Detective Inspector Robinson,” he answered. 

“Prudence Stanley here, Inspector. How do you do?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Stanley, how are you today?”

“I will be much better after I have spoken with you in person,” she said. “Are you free for lunch today?”

“Is everything all right? Has a crime been committed?” Jack asked, rifling through his paperwork for a notepad.

“This is a personal matter of some importance,” she replied. Jack froze. The only thing “personal” between himself and Mrs. Stanley was Phryne.

“Is it Miss Fisher? Is she all right?”

“We will discuss it when I see you,” Mrs. Stanley gave nothing away. “Can I count on you for lunch? Say eleven-thirty?”

“Yes, Mrs. Stanley,” Jack replied. “I’ll be there.” They said their goodbyes and Jack hung up the phone. If there was bad news about Phryne, she would have said so, and he would have certainly heard it in her voice. This was something else, and Jack drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking. He took out Phryne’s letter and read over it with a more critical eye, a detective’s eye. Maybe he’d been hasty in his assumption of what had happened with the Earl of Aylesford. He knew Phryne had entertained many a liberal-minded man, but she usually didn’t boast about it, so why would she do so in a letter? And she’d never been shy about her financial independence or about not being the marrying kind. Even if the Earl was wealthier than Phryne, that wouldn’t be a reason for her to marry him, or anyone. Could it be that her weekend at Packington Hall was merely platonic? Could Jack dare to hope? He tucked the letter into his jacket pocket, drummed his fingers on his desk once again and looked at his watch. Hopefully his curiosity would be satisfied in roughly two hours. 

+++

“Inspector Robinson, how good of you to come,” Mrs. Stanley smiled from her chair at a well-laid luncheon table on the covered veranda overlooking the rose garden. 

“My pleasure, Mrs. Stanley,” Jack said, taking the seat opposite her. The butler poured white wine into their glasses and another server brought out their first course, a soup that smelled delicious. 

“Now, Inspector,” Mrs. Stanley began once the staff had made themselves scarce. “I know you’re a busy man, so I don’t want to take up a lot of your time,” she said. 

“I’m happy to be flexible for you, Mrs. Stanley,” he replied, enjoying the light vegetable soup. 

“Well, I’ve already taken up enough of my own time on this affair, so I will be blunt.” She sipped her wine and gathered her faculties. “What are your intentions with my niece?”

Jack almost choked on his soup. He cleared his throat as calmly as possible and took a sip of wine himself. “Intentions, Mrs. Stanley?”

“Yes, Inspector. Do you plan to marry her?”

Jack took another sip of wine and wiped his lips with the fine linen napkin, giving himself a moment to think. 

“Mrs. Stanley, Miss Fisher made it clear to me that she’s not the marrying kind,” Jack finally said. “Although if her recent letter to me is to be believed, it appears a more suitable suitor has already made himself known, so any intentions I may have harbored are irrelevant and moot.” 

He hadn’t planned to be so forthcoming with Mrs. Stanley, but if she was going to speak so openly about the subject of Phryne, then he might as well be candid with her in return. He was beginning to have his doubts about his initial impressions of Phryne’s letter, but, like any good investigator, he would let Mrs. Stanley change his mind if she could. 

“If you’re talking about the Earl of Aylesford, then I suggest you read this.” Mrs. Stanley lifted the edge of her luncheon plate and produced a telegram and handed it to Jack. 

Jack unfolded the slip of paper cautiously and read. “Dear Prudence, Lord Finch-Knightley, Earl of Aylesford, to marry Lady Artemis Spencer Jan 1st.” The message was dated three days ago. Jack took Phryne’s letter out of his jacket pocket to compare, confirming the name of the Earl was the same and it was dated over a month ago. His heart ignored his skeptical mind and decided to flip-flop. He rubbed his face with his hand to prevent any overt displays of emotion, but the warmth of hope was rising slowly in his chest. 

“That does appear to answer at least one question, Mrs. Stanley,” Jack said, handing the telegram back. 

“You keep that, Inspector,” she said. “It is for your benefit, afterall.” 

“Thank you,” he said, tucking the telegram into his pocket with the letter, wondering why she would go to so much trouble on his behalf. 

“Inspector,” she said, her voice softening. She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “I have watched you and my niece together on many occasions and I have another question for you.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Stanley?” Jack mentally steadied himself for her query. If anything, Mrs. Stanley had proven herself to be just as unpredictable as her niece. 

“Do you love Phryne?”

Jack gulped, closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I do,” he admitted. “But I doubt she will ever feel the same.”

“I think you would be surprised, Inspector,” she said. Jack’s heart did another flip-flop and he looked into Mrs. Stanley’s eyes. She spoke again before he could respond. “My niece is very special to me, Inspector. She is one of the few family members I have left and I want to see her happy. I would do anything for her - even something as unseemly as meddling in someone else’s affairs of the heart. I hope you will act quickly, now that you have this information.”

“I will, Mrs. Stanley,” Jack nodded, his voice threatening to crack. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat to push back his emotions and checked his watch. “I need to get back to the station. Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Stanley. It was,” he paused and smiled. “Quite satisfying.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Inspector,” she returned his smile with a conspiratorial one of her own. 

Jack collected his hat and coat from the butler on his way out, but only donned his hat - the day was suddenly too warm for a topcoat. He drove back to the station a little more quickly than usual, and on the way he stopped at the nearest telegraph office, the same one noted on the bottom of the telegram Mrs. Stanley had given him. His detective instincts were beginning to click. 

“Mr. Green, how are you today?” Jack asked the proprietor. 

“Right as rain, Inspector, how may I help you?”

“Mrs. Prudence Stanley mentioned to me that she’d lost an earring the other day and it may have been here. Has she been in the telegraph office recently?” he asked.

“Four times in two weeks,” Green replied. “She sent three telegrams to London, and yesterday she used the telephone to call a London exchange.”

“London?” Jack said. 

“That’s right. She didn’t have the exchange but I was able to connect her using the address she gave me.”

“Address?” Jack prodded gently, quite pleased with how forthcoming Mr. Green was being, but the man knew his license to operate was issued by the government of Victoria, so he had always been cooperative. 

“You know, I might have it around here still,” Mr. Green looked around and shuffled some papers, then finally plucked a card out of the trash bin. “Ah, here,” he said, handing it to Jack. It was the same as the return address on Phryne’s letter and Jack’s hand trembled just a little. “I can’t tell you who she talked to or what they said, though,” Green continued. “That’s confidential.”

“I understand, thank you, Mr. Green,” Jack said with a smile, subtly pocketing the card. “But no sign of an earring?”

“No, sorry,” Green sighed sadly.

“No worries,” Jack said as he turned to go. “It may be at the bank. Good day.”

Back in his car Jack compared the handwritten address on Mrs. Stanley’s engraved note card to the return address on Phryne’s letter just to be sure it was the same, and it was. Mrs. Stanley had communicated to London four times in the last two weeks, including calling Phryne’s parents’ home just yesterday. She had talked to Phryne, about him. And today she had indicated that his assumption about Phryne’s feelings for him were wrong. 

Jack was stunned. Prudence Stanley, a woman of esteemed social stature had gone to great lengths on his account. Of course she would do so for Phryne, as she said, but to make an effort to include him - a simple policeman - was quite the magnanimous gesture. Even more stunning was the information she had given him - information that had caused fresh hope to bloom in his heart. All he needed now was a plan. 

As he started the police car, Jack began to wonder how this all came about. A lot had happened in two weeks, but the trigger was obviously the reappearance of Concetta in his life. He knew a formidable woman like Mrs. Stanley wouldn’t have played Cupid between him and Phryne of her own volition. An equally formidable force would have had to have put her up to it. Jack ran through all the possibilities among their mutual friends and acquaintances and all their possible motives, and one name rose to the surface. He smiled, chuckled, and shook his head. Of course. Well, he would also need a plan to deal with that person, and he knew just the thing. 

+++

Dinner at the Windsor was an elegant affair, and Jack had gone home to freshen up and change into his best suit and tie. Concetta was captivating in a new gown, one that showed a little more of her arms and shoulders, now that her bruises were disappearing. Lorenzo was clearly smitten and couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She had even invited her grandfather to join them, on the condition that he come alone, and they all had a delightful time. Antonio excused himself early, and Concetta walked him out for one final goodbye. When she returned she took the empty seat next to Jack.

“Shall we retire to the smoking lounge?” Lorenzo asked Franco after dessert. “Please join us, Inspector.”

“Thank you, but maybe some other time,” Jack said. 

“Then goodnight to you, Inspector,” Lorenzo said, standing up with Franco. “We will see you tomorrow at the station.” Jack nodded and said goodnight.

“I’m going upstairs then,” Maria said. “Are you coming, Concetta?”

“Not yet, Signora,” Concetta replied. “I will stop by your room on my way up.” Maria nodded and said goodnight to Jack, and then he and Concetta were alone. 

“Did you orchestrate this?” Jack grinned at her.

“Gianni, what do you think of me,” she asked, teasing. “I am just lucky. Come, let’s go for a walk.” Jack agreed and picked up his hat and coat from the coat check. The evening had cooled and he draped his coat over Concetta’s shoulders, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

“You are in a good mood tonight, Gianni,” she said after they were a few steps past the entrance of the hotel. 

“I’m happy for you,” he said. “And I’m happy for me, too,” he added. “I might finally get some sleep at night.”

“Gianni!” she gasped then laughed.

He led her across the street to Treasury Park on the next corner and they strolled toward the center until they found a bench. They sat close and she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I will miss you, Gianni,” she whispered, her voice catching.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, memories of their time together scrolling through his mind. 

“I will write to you,” she promised.

“I would like that,” he replied. “You can tell me all about your adventures with Lorenzo,” he teased gently.

“He has already said he wants to marry me,” she told him. 

“Is that what you want?”

“Si,” she nodded. “But we are going to wait for a few months, just to be sure.”

“Very wise,” he said. 

“I am nervous, Gianni,” she admitted after a moment.

“About what?”

“You have been so kind to me, so gentle, taught me so many things about myself, but,” she hesitated. “But how do I know Lorenzo will be kind and gentle like you?”

“I had a little chat with Mr. D’Angelo after dinner last night,” he said.

“You did?”

“I didn’t reveal anything personal, of course, but I informed him that there is a lot more to you than a grieving widow and he should treat you with the utmost respect. I’m convinced he will; I saw it in his eyes.”

“Thank you, Gianni,” she sighed. 

“Concetta,” Jack said, turning her to face him. “When you first told me you would leave your family for me, I didn’t know what to say, but I’ll never forget what you were willing to risk for me. You were very brave then, and even braver still to leave them with nowhere to go. I am honored that you came to me for help and I will never forget these last two weeks.”

“And I will never forget how you were the first person in all of Australia who was truly kind to me, Gianni. When you look at me, you see me, not the village cow,” she rolled her eyes and smiled. “What will I do in Perth without your friendship?”

“You’ve already gotten over me once,” he said. “You’re brave enough to do it again.”

“You are a difficult man to get over, Gianni.”

“But Lorenzo will be there to take your mind off me,” he said, then took her hand. “If you do marry him, and you trust him, tell him everything.” She nodded, but looked away. He lifted her chin gently and looked into her eyes. “He deserves to know.”

“I know, and I will.” She touched his face like she always did and gave him her soft smile. “You are still wonderful, Gianni. I hope you will find love, too.”

“I hear I’m everything a girl could want in a man,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

She giggled and her cheeks turned pink. “I can’t believe I really said that,” she rolled her eyes. “But I was desperate to get away from Roberto Salvatore, and all the trouble.”

“And now you have,” he reminded her.

“Si, now I have.”

“You’re ready, Concetta,” he took her hands in his. “You’ll be fine.”

“At home and at ease on a track that I know not,” she quoted from the Lawson poem.

“Si,” he nodded, feeling restless and lost on a road that he knew. They walked back to the hotel in companionable silence and he escorted her up to Signora Agosti’s door. 

“Grazi, Gianni,” she said, taking off his coat and handing it back to him. “Buona notte.”

“Buona notte,” he replied and she kissed him on either cheek. 

As he walked back to the car, he happened to glance up at the sky. A shooting star streaked across the heavens and in his mind a familiar voice whispered, “Jack, look!”


	11. "Burn Inside of Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, happy, fluffy ending - we all love them, don't we?  
> Keep a tissue handy, just in case.   
> +++

The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher never intentionally did anything she didn’t want to do. So when she strode into the telegraph office, she had already composed the perfect message in her head. It was clever, witty and enticing, and she was sure it would work perfectly. However, when she arrived at the counter and the clerk handed her the form to fill out, her mind was suddenly blank. Her perfectly composed message had evaporated like morning fog in the summer sun. 

She stood planted in place at the busy counter, with customers jostling around her, her thoughts twelve-thousand miles away. She thought about Aunt Prudence’s words, she thought about the airfield, and she thought about the man she loved. It was simple really. She didn’t need clever, witty, or enticing; she just needed to bare her heart - a little, enough. 

So Phryne Fisher, the grubby girl from Collingwood and the Honorable Miss, the Independent Lady and the woman in love, penned ten short words on the telegraph form and paid the clerk without waiting for her change. Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief as she walked out of the telegraph office, Phryne Fisher had done what she’d intended to do all along. 

+++

“This telegram came in overnight for you sir,” Hugh said when Jack entered the station the next morning. He stopped in his tracks and looked at his constable for a startled second and Hugh reached his arm all the way out to emphasize the message. 

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack said, taking the envelope, glancing at it, and swallowing hard. Could it be?

He moved quickly into his office and shut the door, swept off his coat and hat, and opened the envelope. His hands started to shake as he saw the sending office was somewhere in London, and he had to blink hard and wipe his eyes with his handkerchief to read the rest. 

“Jack - I’m sorry, I love you, please come after me. - PF”

He wondered why his handkerchief had suddenly become so damp. 

+++

“Collins,” Jack said as he headed for the door about eleven am. Concetta’s train left at noon and he intended to say a proper goodbye to her and her newfound family. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Please call Mrs. Collins and ask her to bring us some lunch in about an hour,” Jack said. “I’m in the mood for my favorite sandwiches.”

“Excellent idea, sir,” Hugh smiled. “I’ll call her right now.”

Jack didn’t waste time saying goodbye to Hugh. He hopped on a passing tram headed for Flinders Street Station, then pushed through the crowds toward the platform, easily finding Signora Agosti’s red hat. 

“Gianni!” Concetta said when she saw him approaching. Her smile was bright and her dark curls glistened in the sun where they were attempting a merry escape from under her cloche. She took him by the shoulders and gave him air kisses on either cheek. “Va bene?”

“Bene,” he replied, then greeted the Agostis and Lorenzo. “May I borrow Miss Strano for a moment, por favore?” he asked them and turned her aside and a few steps away.

“What is it Gianni?”

“If you’re going to write to me,” he said, reaching into his suit jacket. “You’re going to need this.” He handed her one of his Victoria Police calling cards with his home address written on the back. “And if you’re ever back in Melbourne, I expect to hear from you.”

“Of course, Gianni,” she smiled and tucked the card in her purse. “I have left a gift behind for you as well,” she said. “But you will find it when you are not looking for it.”

“You do know I’m a detective,” he raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s my job to find things.”

“And once you do find it, you will need your detective skills even more,” she added. “But I will give you a hint. The first thing you find will be like a secret recipe. After that, you will know what to do.”

“I hope your letters won’t be quite so cryptic,” he replied. 

“A woman must always keep some mysteries, si?”

“The world would be a much less interesting place if you didn’t,” he remarked with a grin.

“Gianni,” she sighed and threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He returned the favor, holding her close and inhaling her lilac perfume one last time. “Take care of yourself, si?” she added.

“Si,” he nodded. “I will.”

They walked back to the others and chatted amiably while they waited, and neither Lorenzo or the Agostis seemed the least bit scandalized that he and Concetta had just embraced in public. When the westbound train chugged into the station, whistle on blast, Jack helped them find their compartments and get settled in. 

“You are in a good mood again today, Gianni?” Concetta mentioned when they had a moment alone in her and Signora Agosti’s compartment. “Did you sleep well last night?” she teased. 

“I did, but that’s not all.”

“What?”

“I’ll let you know when the time comes,” he promised. “But not today. Today is for you...” he turned as Signora Agosti reentered the compartment, “and your new family to celebrate.”

“Did someone say celebrate?” Lorenzo showed up with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, and Signor Agosti was right behind with five glasses. There was just enough time for Lorenzo to pop the cork, pour everyone a glass and toast to Concetta and their safe travels back to Perth. Jack watched as Lorenzo bent to kiss Concetta on the cheek, saw her shy smile and the way she looked him in the eyes, and when she touched Lorenzo’s lapel, he saw that she’d moved her Nonna Sophia’s ring to the third finger of her left hand. He smiled. The expected sadness, the ache in his heart, was nowhere to be found. He bid them all a fond farewell and left the train as the warning whistle blew. 

+++

“Hello, Inspector,” Dot said when Jack returned to the station. She was sitting on the bench in the waiting area, picnic basket beside her. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins. Have you dismissed my constable?”

“Hugh went down to the cells to put someone in the drunk tank,” she replied with ease. Jack knew he should be startled by her matter-of-fact mentioning of such things as drunk tanks, but nothing surprised him any longer when it came to Miss Fisher and Mrs. Collins. 

“Right here, sir,” Hugh said, coming into the front office and hanging up the keys. “Did Miss Strano and her family get all settled on the train?”

“They did,” Jack nodded. “All’s well. Now, Mrs. Collins, if you would step into my office for a moment, I need to discuss something with you.”

“With me, Inspector?”

“Just for a moment. Collins, take messages.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh replied, then shook his head and shrugged when Dot’s eyes asked him what was going on. 

“Please have a seat,” Jack said, closing his office door and waving to the visitor’s chair.

“Here’s your lunch, Inspector,” she said, placing the basket on his desk.

“Excellent,” he replied, moving the basket to the floor next to his chair. “But first, I have a puzzle for you to solve, Dot.”

“A puzzle, Inspector?”

“Yes. I’m going to give you some clues, and I want you to tell me who did it.”

“Who did what, Inspector?”

“First clue,” Jack said, reaching into his suit’s inside pocket, the one over his heart.

“Should I take notes?”

“You shouldn’t need to,” he said, taking out that morning’s telegram and holding it up. “I received this telegram this morning. From London.”

“Did you?” Dot’s eyes went wide and a smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. 

“I can’t let you read it, because it’s quite personal, but who do you and I both know in London that would send me a personal telegram?”

“Miss Fisher?” Dot asked, the look on her face turning wary. 

“Correct, the telegram is from Miss Fisher. Second clue,” Jack tucked the telegram away and went on. “Yesterday morning, I received a call from Mrs. Prudence Stanley, inviting me over for lunch the same day, regarding a personal matter. I can’t tell you the subject of conversation, but she did give me this.” Jack took out the telegram about the Earl of Aylesford and handed it to Dot, who scanned it with wide eyes. “Does any of that ring any bells?”

“Maybe?” Dot said, handing him back the slip of paper. 

“Third clue: After lunch, I went to this local telegraph office, and found out that Mrs. Stanley had been there four times in the last two weeks, sending three telegrams, and the fourth time, two days ago, she made a long distance call to London. Again, who do we know in London?”

“Miss Fisher,” Dot said, and gulped. 

“Correct, and when did Mrs. Stanley start sending telegrams?”

“Two weeks ago?”

“And what else happened two weeks ago, at roughly the same time that Mrs. Stanley started sending telegrams, culminating in the delivery of the personal telegram to me from Miss Fisher?”

“Uhm,” Dot looked down in her lap and wrung her hands. “Miss Strano came to stay at Wardlow,” she said quietly. 

“Correct,” Jack said, enjoying his contrived interrogation of Dot. “Now, let’s discuss motive. Mrs. Stanley is certainly not the type to be playing Cupid for anyone, much less her niece and certainly not me. Mrs. Stanley is a formidable woman, and it would take someone equally formidable to sway her. We know the top two motives are love and money, and I’m fairly certain the motive here wasn’t financial. So, here’s the final question, Dot:” Jack paused and raised an eyebrow at her. “Who swayed Mrs. Stanley?”

Dot chewed her bottom lip and glanced down at her hands again, then took a deep breath and looked up at him, a formidable glint in her own eye. “I did, Inspector,” she asserted. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Jack smiled broadly at her. “Congratulations, Dot. You solved the puzzle - full marks,” he said, standing up and walking around his desk toward her. “And I want you to know,” he hesitated a moment, swallowing the catch in his throat. “Well, here,” he said, taking Phryne’s telegram out of his pocket again. “You know everything else, you might as well read it.”

“I couldn’t,” she demurred. 

“Go ahead, Dot,” he said. “This is your good work.” Dot took the telegram from his hand and opened it gently. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. 

“Oh, Inspector,” she cried and hugged him fiercely. “I’m so happy for you.” 

“So am I,” he smiled when she let him go. She handed him back the telegram and he tucked it away then took her hands in his. “Thank you, Dot,” he said. “This means so much to me.”

“It was my pleasure, Inspector.”

“Now,” he said, picking up a file folder from his desk and opening the door. “If you’ll head on out to the front counter, I have a gift for you.” They walked out and Dot went to stand next to Hugh.

“What’s going on, Dottie?” Hugh whispered.

“Don’t know,” she replied. 

“Mrs. Collins,” Jack began. “About two weeks ago, Dr. MacMillan suggested I hire you on as a secretary, but I have a better idea,” he opened the folder that held two pieces of paper. “Mrs. Collins, I am authorizing you as a Special Constable of the Victoria Police Force. Please sign here.”

“Me?” Dot exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Jack said. “More and more we’re needing female constables to search suspects or question witnesses, plus, you have great insight and problem solving skills, and your various administrative skills would be greatly appreciated around here. It’s only volunteer work, but we need you. Will you join us?”

“Yes, absolutely,” she replied and quickly signed the top form. 

“Here is a certificate you can carry with you if you’d like,” Jack said, handing her the other piece of paper. “Dorothy Collins, you are now a Special Constable of the Victoria Police Force,” he said, shaking her hand. “Congratulations.” 

“Dottie, look at you!” Hugh grinned and hugged her. 

“There’s another reason I’m bringing you on, Dot,” Jack said. “I need people I trust to handle things here for a few months. I’m going to be taking a leave of absence starting next week to travel to London for the Holidays.”

“London?” Hugh said, a broad smile lit up his face. “That’s great, sir.”

“Yes it is, Collins. Yes it is.” 

+++

Jack swore he’d put that magnifying glass in his topcoat, but now he couldn’t find it. “I must have dropped it at that damn crime scene,” he muttered as he felt through all the pockets in his coat. Something firm met his fingers in the top right inside pocket - one he never used. He pulled out a small envelope that carried a faint scent of lilac. Concetta.

He opened the envelope carefully and inside was a small key and a piece of paper. He unfolded the paper and read her note. 

“State Bank, King St., Box 414. Remember, Gianni - Omerta. Ciao, Concetta.”

She had said it was a gift, she had said she knew too much, and she had promised her grandfather her silence. As much as he wanted to know what was in that deposit box, if the investigations and arrests came from him and City South, it would be traced back to her, and he had to protect her at all costs. So he sat back down at his desk and made a quick call. 

“Mick, it’s Jack. Do you have time to grab a pint this evening?”

+++

The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher was, and had been, many things in her life, but this new state of being was her biggest challenge yet. It involved new disciplines like patience, sacrifice and exposure, and even a certain amount of self-denial, although that hadn’t been as hard as she’d expected it to be. She never denied herself any pleasures, yet, lately, her interests had waned and random encounters with physically attractive partners were no longer satisfying. 

Intellectual, literary and artistic pursuits held their own cerebral, and sometimes sensual, pleasures, but she had always seen them as decidedly distinct from the physical. Oh, there had been many smart and attractive men who had crossed her path over the years, but few of them had seen her as an equal, who challenged her the way she challenged them. That was until she’d found both physical and intellectual attraction combined in one human being: Jack Robinson. 

That was why the latest and greatest challenge Phryne Fisher would ever face was being a woman in love. It was also why she rushed to her private boudoir and locked the door when the telegram from Melbourne arrived, and why her hands had shaken and tears had flown when she read the simple message.

“PF - RMS Ormonde, Arrive London 13 Dec. I love you, too. Jack”

+++FINI+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EVERYONE for reading and sticking with this story to the end. I have been honored and humbled by your comments, and by your anticipation as each chapter is posted. I hope this final chapter was satisfying, and those of you who missed the "Phrack dynamic" are happy that all is now right in their world. Have a wonderful day!

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t typically use chapter titles, but there was something else that inspired me and I wanted to include it in a more subtle way. Chapter titles are taken from the song “Live To Tell” by Madonna for the film, “At Close Range.”


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